^ 


Marjory 


etui.  ** 


MISADVEN   URES 


OF  MARJORY 


BY 

JAMES  BALL  NAYLOR 

Author  of 

"RALPH    MARLOWE" 

"THE  KENTUCKIAN" 

Etc. 


THE  C.  M.  CLARK  PUBLISHING  Co. 

Boston,  Massachusetts 
1908 


Copyright,    1908. 

By 
THE  C.  M.  CLARK  PUBLISHING  CO., 

Boston,   Massachusetts, 
U.  S.  A. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 

Entered  at  Stationers  Hall, 
London. 


This  is  no  treatise  erudite 

On  Martian  astronomy, 
No  essay  learned  teaching  right 

Political  economy; 
It  does  not  deal,  for  woe  or  weal, 

With  socialist  histology, 
Nor  does  it  show,  nor  claim  to  know 

The  tenets  of  psychology. 
In  short,  it  is  no  classic  score 

Of  faultless  style  and  diction, 
Parading  scientific  lore — 

All  in  the  guise  of  fiction. 

A  modest  tale,  its  meager  plot 

Is  noways  allegorical; 
It  does  not  lay  a  claim — God  wot! — 

To  characters  historical. 
It  has  no  art  to  search  the  heart 

Of  every  sect  fanatical, 
Nor  feels  the  need  to  frame  a  creed 

From  scriptures  emblematical. 
In  fact,  the  author  did  not  look 

Through  musty  tomes  and  hoary, 
To  glean  material  for  his  book — 

It's  just  a  little  story. 


2137586 


It  does  not  treat,  in  any  way, 

Of  themes  and  things  political; 
And  may  not  please — I  blush  to  say! — 

The  critics  hyper-critical. 
It  does  not  claim  the  right  to  name 

Itself  a  modem  novel, 
Nor  beg  the  fate  to  circulate 

From   mansion-house  to  hovel. 
In  truth,  the  author  had  no  thought 

Of  future  fame  or  glory; 
He  simply  sat  him  down  and  wrought 

A  story — just  a  story. 

C'iutturt 

Dear  reader,  let  me  just  repeat, 

Sans  further  inventory: 
This. is  no  literary  treat— 

Tis  but  a  little  story! 

JAMES   BALL   NAYLOR 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 


THE  MISADVENTURES 
OF  MARJORY 

i. 

WELL,  dear  old  chum  and  room-mate, — 
Sweet  Nell  of  old  Oberlin! — agreeable  to 
promise  given  so  long  ago,  I'm  writing  you 
of  all  and  sundry  that  has  befallen  me  since 
our  tearful  farewell  and  sobbing  avowal  of 
eternal  friendship  and  fond  remembrance; 
and,  knowing  myself  as  I  do — knowing  my 
proneness  to  drivel,  to  make  much  of  small 
and  unimportant  incidents,  I  must  warn 
you  in  advance  that  if  you  attempt  to  read 
this  bulky  communication  at  one  sitting, 
you'll  probably  fall  asleep  over  it, — far  in  the 
night, — and  miss  chapel  next  morning. 

But  if  y6u  do,  Nell  Adams,  it'll  be  worth 
while — indeed  I  believe  it  will! 

Those  were  dear  days — dear  dead  days 
now! — when  you  were  a  sophomore  in  college 
proper  and  I  was  a  senior  in  business-school; 

i 


THE   MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

when  we  had  rooms  together  at  Mrs.  Fram's— 
sweet  motherly  old  thing! — and  took  meals 
at  one  of  the  "feed-'alls";  when  we  dreamed 
our  dreams  and  planned  our  plans — and  had 
a  royal  good  time,  on  the  whole,  seven  days 
out  of  the  week;  when  the  sun  was  always 
shining — in  our  eyes,  and  the  birds  were 
always  singing — in  our  hearts. 

Speaking  of  our  dreams,  Sweet  Nell,  of 
course  you  haven't  forgotten  how  you  used 
to  laugh  me  to  scorn  and  point  the  finger  of 
derision  at  me  because  my  pet  dream,  my 
highest  and  fondest  ambition,  was  to  return 
to  sleepy,  Quakerish  old  Chesterville,  the 
village  of  my  nativity,  and  live  with  Aunt 
Dodo  and  help  Jack  run  the  general  store. 
Of  course  you  haven't  forgot!  I  can  hear 
you  right  now — this  very  moment,  saying 
as  you  used  to  say  so  frequently: 

"Marjory  Dawes,  you're  a  goose — a  pre- 
cious little  goose !  The  bare  idea  of  you  think- 
ing you'll  be  content  to  bury  yourself  alive 
in  that  musty  graveyard  of  a  town — after 
having  a  taste  of  real  life !  The  mere  thought 
is  preposterous.  Child,  you  don't  know 
yourself;  it's  time  you  were  forming  an 

2 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF  MARJORY 

acquaintance  with  your  ego.  Nay,  nay!  Mad 
Marjory!  You,  the  diminutive,  the  petite  — 
you  of  the  fluffy  brown  hair  and  hazel  orbs, 
were  not  born  for  the  simple  life;  you  were 
born  for  adventure,  for  conquest  and  spoils— 
for  a  mad  and  merry  career.  And — uncon- 
sciously, I'll  suppose  for  the  sake  of  argument 
—you  desire  it,  you  want  it;  and  fate  has 
willed  that  you  should  have  it.  I  know;  I 
know!" 

And  then  you'd  go  on  and  recite  in  proof 
of  your  assertions,  Nell,  a  list  of  all  the  mad- 
cap pranks  and  wild  escapades  I  had  been 
guilty  of  during  my  stay  at  Oberlin.  I'd 
bear  with  you  patiently,  you  remember- 
indeed  I'd  have  you  remember  that! — smile 
complacently,  albeit  a  little  superiorly,  shud- 
der deliciously  at  thought  that  you  might 
be  right,  possibly,  in  your  predictions;  and 
resolve  to  outwit  fate — if  you  were  right — 
and  end  my  days  in  drowsy  old  Chesterville, 
with  Aunt  Dodo  and  Jack.  But  rarely  did 
I  cry  out  against  the  charges  you  made  against 
my  character  as  a  decorous  and  circumspect 
young  woman;  and  then  it  was  simply  to 
call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  you  had 

3 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

been  my  first  aide,  my  prime  abettor,  in 
every  foolish  frolic  I  had  indulged  in,  and 
that  you  were  much  more  likely  than  I  to 
become  a  fascinating  adventuress — much  more 
likely  to  become  an  adventuress,  in  fact,  than 
a  blue-goggled  blue-stocking,  as  you  proudly 
anticipated  and  hoped. 

If  you're  still  of  the  notion,  however,  dear 
Nell,  that  your  forte  and  fate  is  literature, 
here's  material  for  your  first  story. 

Well,  the  months  sped — they  have  the 
sad  habit  of  doing  that  very  thing,  I've 
noticed!  —  and  we  were  delightfully,  irre- 
sponsibly, irrationally  happy;  happy  in  spite 
of  tiresome  exams  and  galling  restrictions 
upon  our  liberties.  For  we  loved  each  other, 
chum  mine,  and  were  blissfully  content  in 
the  camaraderie  that  was  ours. 

Then — like  the  slap  of  a  wet  towel  in  the 
face — came  that  letter  from  Jack ;  from  Jack, 
mein  grosser  bruder — saying  that  he  was  to 
be  married.  To  whom  he  did  not  say — nor 
when  it  was  to  be;  it  was  just  like  the  thick- 
witted  fellow  to  neglect  to  mention  such  very 
important  details.  Jack  to  be  married! 
Jack,  who  was  twenty  years  older  than  I— 

4 


THE   MISADVENTURES  OF   MARJORY 

and  big  and  poky  and  bald;  who  was  every- 
thing to  me  and  nothing  to  any  other  woman 
on  earth — excepting  Aunt  Dodo,  and  she 
didn't  count;  who  had  protected  me,  pro- 
vided for  me,  given  me  my  schooling,  humored 
me  and  coddled  me  and  spoiled  me,  and 
lorded  it  over  me — ever  since  our  parents' 
death,  when  I  was  a  tiny  tot  of  two.  Jack 
to  take  unto  himself  a  wife! — Jack  Dawes, 
whom  I  had  looked  upon  as  the  very  best  man 
in  all  the  wide  world — but  an  impossible 
husband  to  any  woman  under  any  sun  or 
set  of  circumstances;  whom  I  had  considered 
a  little  lower  than  the  angels  but  far  above 
ordinary  mortals — so  far  above  that  the 
association  of  his  name  with  the  mere  thought 
of  marriage  smacked  of  sacrilege.  Jack  was 
to  be  married!  And  what  of  my  blissful 
visions  of  the  simple  life?  Gone  like  frost- 
palaces  upon  a  sunlit  window!  Could  I  go 
back  home  to  live  with  Aunt  Dodo  and  Jack 
and  help  him  run  the  store?  No!  Another 
woman  would  have  a  place  in  his  house  and 
his  heart;  and  there  would  be  no  cozy  corner 
for  me.  Could  I  endure  the  sight  of  Jack- 
overgrown,  unsentimental  Jack . — spooning 

5 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and  mooning  with  an  old-maidish  wife? 
No! — several  times  no!  I  just  knew  I  couldn't 
and  I  just  knew  I  wouldn't.  But  what  was 
I  to  do;  what  could  I  do? 

Though  I  write  of  the  matter  in  a  semi- 
humorous  way  to-day,  Nell,  you  will  readily 
recall  that  I  was  quite  heartsick  over  it  at 
the  time;  that  I  bowed  my  queenly  head,— 
think  of  bowing  a  queenly  head  that  at  best 
is  only  five-feet-two  from  the  floor! — and 
wept,  boohooed  right  out  loud;  that  you 
tempted  me,  my  beautiful,  with  hunks  of 
fudge  and  chunks  of  toffee — but  that  I 
refused  to  be  comforted. 

Then,  suddenly, — I  can  see  you  smiling!— 
I  came  out  of  the  depths  of  my  misery;  I 
got  mad — furious.  I  got  up  and  walked  the 
floor,  and  stamped — and  said  naughty  things 
under  my  breath;  and  straightway  resolved 
to  set  out  for  home,  to  cut  the  remaining 
few  weeks  of  the  school-year,  to  forego  the 
reward  of  a  blue-ribboned  diploma,  to  save 
Jack — dear,  blundering,  innocent,  Jack!— 
from  the  smiles  and  wiles  of  the  arch  temp- 
tress, whoever  she  might  be,  and  to  save  unto 
myself  my  dream  of  a  simple  and  blissful  life. 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

That  night  you  helped  me  to  pack,  Nell — 
and  wasted  a  deal  of  sympathy  and  nervous 
energy  upon  me,  in  a  vain  attempt  to  comfort 
me  and  coax  me  into  a  semblance  of  resigned 
cheerfulness;  and  the  next  morning  I  was  off 
on  the  train,  bound  for  my  native  heath — 
waving  you  a  tearful  farewell  from  the  car 
window. 

And  now,  old  chum,  to  speed  away  from 
the  places  and  things  you  do  know  and  get 
to  the  scenes  and  events  you  don't  know,  Fll 
state  briefly  that  late  in  the  afternoon  I 
arrived  at  Stockton,  the  nearest  station  to 
Chesterville — five  miles  away,  across  the  hills. 
While  waiting 'for  the  lumbering  hack — that 
was  to  bear  me  to  my  destination — to  get 
ready  to  start,  I  went  to  the  village  hostlery, 
bathed  and  brushed  away  all  traces  of  grief 
and  marks  of  travel,  and  got  a  warm  supper — 
thus  fortifying  myself  for  the  ordeal  I  knew 
was  before  me. 

An  hour  later  the  clumsy,  screaky  old 
hack  had  left  Stockton  behind  and  was 
bowling  and  bumping  over  the  gullied  roads, 
up  one  hill  and  down  another.  The  sun 
sank  from  sight;  the  evening  shadows  gath- 

7 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

ered.  I  was  the  only  passenger.  The  driver 
was  old  and  partially  deaf,  and  uncommuni- 
cative; and  I  was  lonely — unspeakably  lonely, 
in  a  literal  sense,  Nell.  At  the  top  of  a  red- 
clay  hill  I  leaned  out  of  the  vehicle  and 
looked  far  ahead  and  to  the  west.  There 
shone  the  twinkling  lights  of  Chesterville,  a 
mile  away  across  the  deep  valley  of  Wolf 
creek;  and  you  can  imagine  how  I  felt  at 
that  moment — I  know  you  can.  I  was  glad 
and  sorry,  happy  and  miserable;  eager  to  get 
home,  yet  anxious  over  what  the  result  of 
my  home-coming  might  be. 

Down  another  long  hill,  through  a  covered 
wooden  bridge  spanning  the  placid  stream, 
up  the  opposite  slope — turning  and  zigzag- 
ging, and  mounting  ever  higher  and  higher, 
we  rolled;  and  then  came  the  summit— 
and  the  suburbs  of  the  village.  It  was  quite 
dark  by  this  time.  I  requested  the  driver — 
whom  I  knew,  and  who  knew  me — to  drive 
first  to  my  home,  and  warned  him  to  say  noth- 
ing of  my  arrival.  I  felt  sure  Jack  would  be 
down  at  the  store,  and  I  desired  to  see  Aunt 
Dodo  alone  and  learn  the  true  status  of  affairs 
before  I  encountered  my  deluded  brother. 


"Whoa — ho-ho!"  bellowed  the  driver,  loud 
enough  to  apprise  the  whole  neighborhood 
of  my  advent,  had  the  inhabitants  been  on  the 
quivive.  The  dolt!  I  could  have  killed  him 
without  compunction  or  chloroform,  Nell. 
After  I  had  warned  him  that  I  didn't  want 
anyone  to  learn  of  my  arrival,  too!  Then, 
not  content  with  the  noise  he  had  already 
made,  he  jammed  down  the  brake  with  a 
rattling  bang  and  surged  back  upon  the  lines, 
grunting  and  muttering  like  the  wild  man 
in  a  side-show.  And  the  most-provoking 
thing  about  the  whole  procedure  was  that 
it  was  wholly  unnecessary;  the  tired  horses 
had  already  come  to  a  stop,  of  their  own 
accord. 

But  how  good — how  deliciously,  enchant- 
ingly  good! — the  old  frame  house  looked  to 
me,  homesick,  heartsick,  as  I  was!  The  front 
hall  door  stood  invitingly  open;  and  a  warm 
red  light  was  streaming  from  the  sitting- 
room  windows.  I  had  difficulty  in  swallowing 
the  lump  in  my  throat;  and  was  so  blinded  by 
the  moisture  in  my  eyes  that  I  stumbled  and 
almost  fell  as  I  alighted  from  the  vehicle — 
my  hands  and  arms  full  of  skirts  and  parcels. 

9 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Carry  my  trunk  into  the  hall,  Andy/' 
I  said  crossly  to  the  driver;  "and  get  away 
from  the  front  of  the  house  as  quickly  as  you 
can.  And — for  pity's  sake! — remember  what 
I  said:  don't  tell  anybody  I've  come  home." 

I  stood  upon  the  broad  flag  step  until  the 
dark  hulk  of  the  hack  disappeared  in  the 
darker  shadows  down  the  long  street.  The 
smell  of  moist  earth,  tender  grass  and  fresh- 
blown  apple-blossoms  greeted  me;  the  open 
portal  of  my  home  stood  ready  to  enfold  me. 
But,  oh,  I  was  wretched — so  wretched!  At 
last  I  entered  the  hall,  moved  slowly  to  the 
sitting-room  door  and  stealthily  pushed  it 
open.  No  one  was  in  sight;  but  I  heard 
Aunt  Dodo  pottering  around  in  the  kitchen 
beyond.  Her  easy  chair  and  small  work- 
table  stood  near  a  front  window;  her  sewing 
lay  upon  the  floor  near. 

"Dear  old  Aunty!"  I  murmured,  gulping 
hard  at  the  lump  in  my  throat.  Then  I 
managed  to  call  aloud,  plaintively,  breath- 
lessly : 

"Aunt  Dodo!" 

The  clatter  of  dishes  instantly  ceased,  and 
was  immediately  followed  by  the  sound  of 

10 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

shuffling  footsteps  crossing  the  kitchen  floor; 
and  there  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  surprise, 
wonder,  consternation — almost,  upon  her 
wrinkled  countenance. 

"Marjory  Dawes!"  she  exclaimed,  tragic- 
ally throwing  up  her  hands. 

"Aunt  Dodo  I"  I  screeched  hysterically, 
in  return. 

I  dropped  my  parcels,  flew  to  her  and  flung 
my  arms  around  her  neck,  hiding  my  face 
upon  her  bosom;  and  she  enfolded  me,  drew 
me  to  her  portly  person  and  rocked  to  and 
fro  with  me,  convulsive  respirations  heaving 
her  chest. 

And,  oh,  I  was  sad  and  happy  at  one  and 
the  same  time!  At  that  moment  I  felt  that 
though  Jack — dear,  stalwart,  foolish  Jack!— 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  might  desert  me, 
Aunt  Dodo  would  prove  stanch  and  steadfast; 
that  I  could  rely  upon  her  to  see  things  as  I 
saw  them,  could  depend  upon  her  to  aid  me 
in  bringing  the  perverse  and  provoking  Jack 
to  a  sense  of  the  true  proportion  of  things— 
of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things.  But  await 
the  sequel,  my  Nell — await  the  sequel! 

Aunt    Dodo    disengaged    herself  from  my 
11 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

clinging  embrace,  gently  pushed  me  from  her, 
and  murmured  slowly,  huskily,  in  awesome 
tones : 

"Marjory  Dawes!    You  home!" 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,  Auntie,"  I 
giggled,  wiping  the  tears  from  my  eyes  and 
weakly  dropping  into  a  chair. 

"You  sick?"  she  inquired  —  with  well-as- 
sumed solicitude. 

But  I  was  convinced  from  the  way  she  eyed 
me  and  nervously  patted  and  smoothed  her 
gingham  apron,  that  she  was  not  as  ignorant 
of  the  cause  of  my  untimely  home-coming 
as  she  would  have  me  believe;  in  fact,  I 
began  to  suspect  that  she  had  rather  expected 
me. 

"  Jest  git  homesick?  "  was  her  next  question. 

"No,"  I  made  answer. 

"Y'r  school  ain't  out,  is  it?" 

I  shook  my  head,  looking  her  through. 

"  Well,  you  didn't  git  done — didn't  graduate 
'fore  the  rest,  I  s'pose,  did  you?" 

Again  I  shook  my  head,  still  gazing  at  her 
steadily. 

She  grew  so  uneasy  under  my  prolonged 
stare,  that  she  sought  the  depths  of  her  favorite 

12 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

chair  and  vigorously  began  to  fan  herself  with 
her  apron. 

But  she  pursued  resolutely:  "What  brung 
you  home,  then?" 

"The  train  and  hack,  Auntie." 

"Humph!"  she  snorted,  but  smiling  in 
spite  of  herself.  "Don't  try  to  be  smart, 
Marjory;  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"And  you  know  what  brought  me  home, 
Aunt  Dodo." 

"What?"  she  persisted. 

"Jack's  letter,  of  course." 

"  He  wrote  you  that — that— 

"Yes,  he  did;  you  know  he  did." 

"W'y,  poor  child,  you  needn't  'ave  come 
home  on  that  account,"  she  replied  smoothly, 
complacently;  "Jack's  gittin'  'long  first  rate, 
makin'  the  arrangements  fer  his — his  wed- 
din'." 

"Indeed!"  I  fleered  scornfully. 

Then  we  sat  and  looked  at  each  other  for 
several  seconds;  and  I  realized,  Nell — with  a 
sickening  sinking  of  the  heart — that  I  was 
to  get  neither  sympathy  nor  support  from 
Aunt  Dodo. 

The   strained    silence   grew    embarrassing, 

13 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

oppressive.    Aunt  Dodo  fidgeted  a  moment, 
then  remarked  tentatively: 

"You  hain't  had  no  supper,  of  course, 
Marjory." 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"You  have?    Where'd  you  git  it?" 

I  told  her. 

"Well,  won't  you  have  a  cup  o'  tea,  any- 
how?" 

I  declined,  and  asked:    "Where's  Jack?" 

"Down  to  the  store,  I  s'pose.  He'll  be 
mighty  surprised  to  find  you  home;  an'  I 
don't  b'lieve  he'll  more  'n  half  like  it." 

"I  don't  care  whether  he  likes  it  or  not,"  I 
declared  stoutly,  recklessly;  "I've  come  home 
to  keep  him  from  making  a  fool  of  himself." 

"You're  talkin'  'bout  his  gittin'  married?" 
Aunt  Dodo  inquired,  smiling  frostily — her 
brows  lifted. 

"Yes,   I    am.     Now,   who's — who's    the— 
the—" 

"Who's  the  woman  he's  goin'  to  marry?" 

"Yes,"  I  snapped,  setting  my  jaws. 

"W'y,  didn't  he  tell  you  her  name — in  his 
letter?" 

"No,  he  didn't." 

14 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Well,  if  that  ain't  jest  like  a  man!" 
And  Aunt  Dodo  chuckled  asthmatically,  her 
fat  sides  shaking — "The  idee  of  writin'  his 
own  sister  that  he  was  goin'  to  git  married, 
an'  never  savin'  who  he  was  goin'  to  git 
married  to!  I  don't  wonder  at  y'r  comin' 
home — I  don't  a  bit;  an'  I  don't  know  as  I 
blame  you,  neither.  I  know  jest  how  you 
felt;  you  was  worried  to  death  fer  fear  he 
was  takin'  up  with  some  purty-faced  good- 
fer-nothin' — as  so  many  men  does  nowadays. 
But  you  needn't  'ave  been  c'ncerned,  Marjie; 
he's  showed  re'l  good  sense — Jack  has,  an' 
made  a  good  choice." 

She  paused  impressively. 

"Well?"  I  cried  impatiently,  irritably. 

"He's    goin'    to    marry    Dor' thy    Crewe." 

"Dorothy  Crewe?"  I  gasped. 

Aunt  Dodo  nodded,  looking  me  straight  in 
the  eyes. 

"  Dorothy  Crewe !"  I  murmured  chokingly. 

Again  Aunt  Dodo  nodded,  gazing  straight 
at  me — and  through  me. 

"Humph!"  was  all  I  could  say. 

Then  I  arose  and  slowly  began  to  remove 
my  hat  and  gloves.    Dorothy  Crewe!    A  little 

15 


faded-out,  thirty-year-old,  namby-pamby, 
village  school-mistress,  Nell — think  of  it! 
I  wanted  to  laugh,  I  wanted  to  cry;  and  as  I 
couldn't  decide  which  to  do  first,  I  took  a  grip 
on  myself  and  did  neither. 

"Surely  you  can't  say  no  thin'  ag'in  her— 
ag'in  Dor' thy  Crewe?"  Aunt  Dodo  remarked, 
defiance  in  tone  and  manner. 

I  did  not  accept  her  implied  challenge- 
to  her  evident  disappointment;  but  stood 
viciously  thrusting  a  hat-pin  through  the 
crown  of  my  hat  and  biting  my  lips,  for  sev- 
eral moments.  Then  I  tossed  the  unoffending 
bit  of  headgear  upon  the  table  in  the  center 
of  the  room,  and  collapsed  wearily  into  my 
chair. 

"Tired?"  Aunt  Dodo  inquired  kindly. 

"A  little,"  I  admitted. 

"You'll  be  wantin'  to  go  to  bed  purty 
soon,  an'  git  a  good  night's  rest,"  she  sug- 
gested soothingly.  "Pll  tell  Jack  you've 
come;  an'  you  can  see  him  in  the  mornin'. 
He'll  understand  you're  wore  out,  an'  won't 
think  no  thin'  of  y'r  not  stay  in'  up  to  meet 
him.  I'll  go  up  an'  fix  y'r  bed  right  now— 
this  minute." 

16 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

She  arose  to  leave  the  room;  but  I  waved 
her  back  into  her  chair. 

"I'm  not  so  nearly  exhausted  as  all  that, 
Aunt  Dodo,"  I  said,  yawning  to  hide  the 
smile  upon  my  face — her  eagerness  to  bundle 
me  off  to  bed,  to  keep  me  from  pouncing  upon 
Jack,  was  so  patent;  "and  I  want  to  talk 
further  about — about  things.  So  Jack  thinks 
of  marrying  Dorothy  Crewe,  eh?" 

"Thinks  of  marryin'  her,  Marjory?"  Aunt 
Dodo  returned  irritably.  "W'y,  he's  goin' 
to  marry  her,  jest  as  soon's  her  school's  out — 
which  is  sometime  'bout  the  last  o'  this 
month  'r  the  first  o'  next.  I  b'lieve  he  did 
mention  somethin'  to  me  'bout  settin'  the 
weddin'  fer  the  last  o'  June — so's  you'd  be 
sure  to  be  at  home.  But  seein'  you're  here 
now,  maybe  they'll  set  it  fer  a  sooner  date." 

"They  needn't  consider  my  whereabouts 
or  convenience,"  I  remarked  acidly;  "I 
shan't  be  present." 

"You  won't  be  present?"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Dodo,  her  eyes  open  wide. 

"No,  I  won't,"  I  said  decidedly. 

"Why?" 

I  kept  silent. 

17 


"You  hain't  got  nothin'  ag'in  Dor' thy, 
you  said,  didn't  you?" 

Still  I    maintained  a  determined    silence. 

"Marjory  Dawes,  what's  the  matter  of 
you,  anyhow?" 

And  then  I  couldn't  stay  upon  earth  any 
longer,  Nell;  I  went  up  in  the  air  like  a  rocket 
— fizzing,  sputtering,  scintillating.  Such  a 
display  of  verbal  pyrotechnics  Auntie  Dodo 
had  never  before  witnessed,  I  venture.  Think 
of  me,  Sweet  Nell — picture  me  out  in  your 
mind!  Me,  Marjory  Dawes — five-feet-two, 
striding  the  stage  and  playing  the  tragedienne ! 
And  here's  some — a  few  of  the  things  I  said: 

"What's  the  matter!" — with  withering  scorn 
— "You  can  ask  such  a  question,  Aunt  Dodo? 
This  is  what's  the  matter:  Dorothy  Crewe 
can  make  a  fool  of  Jack;  the  two  of  them  can 
make  a  fool  of  you;  but  all  of  you  together 
can't  make  a  fool  of  me!  So  there!  What's 
the  matter,  indeed!  The  idea  of  Jack — dear 
big-hearted,  ugly,  old  Jack! — getting  mar- 
ried! And  to  such  a  little  mummified,  fish- 
eyed  creature!  Bah!  Auntie  Dodo!  Bah!" 
— Although  I  was  so  wrought  up,  so  tragic 
in  the  intensity  of  my  feeling  and  expression, 

18 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

I  was  closely  observing  the  effect  of  my  words 
and  actions  upon  my  very  select  audience; 
and  I  noticed  that  her  seamed  and  ancient 
visage  was  reflecting  various  and  conflicting 
emotions.  Amusement,  admiration,  wonder 
—I  read  there;  then  something  like  quick 
surprise  and  sudden  consternation.  I  noticed, 
too,  that  now  she  appeared  to  be  looking  past 
me  into  fathomless  space,  instead  of  at  me; 
and  I  could  not  understand.  But  I  went  on 
recklessly: — "Jack  marry  Dorothy  Crewe— 
and  without  consulting  me!  Well,  he  won't! 
I'll  not  have  it;  I'll—" 

A.  slight  noise  behind  me — like  a  snort  of 
smothered  laughter — attracted  my  attention. 
I  threw  a  glance  over  my  shoulder.  There 
stood  Jack  in  the  doorway,  grinning  like  an 
inspired  wooden  Indian! 


19 


II. 


JACK  continued  his  nasty  grin;  Aunt  Dodo 
chuckled  her  infinite  amusement.  Tears  of 
anger  and  mortification  came  into  my  eyes; 
but  I  blinked  them  back,  turned  and  walked 
to  the  window  and  stood  peering  out  into  the 
darkness — saying  never  a  word. 

Jack  came  over  and  tried  to  put  his  arm 
around  me;  but  I  pettishly  drew  away  from 
him. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Marjory?"  he 
said  in  a  hurt  tone.  "Aren't  you  going  to 
kiss  me?" 

"No,  I'm  not!"  I  blurted  out  crossly, 
moving  farther  away  from  him,  but  so  blinded 
by  my  tears  that  I  was  in  danger  of  bumping 
into  the  furniture — and  so  miserable  I  did 
not  care  if  I  did. 

"Why  aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me,  Mar- 
jory?" —succeeding  in  getting  his  arm  around 
my  waist,  and  drawing  me  to  him. 

"  Because— because  you  made  fun — fun  of 
me,  Jack;  and— 

20 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

And  then  my  face  was  pressed  against  his 
shoulder;  and  I  was  sobbing  heart-brokenly. 

He  dropped  back  into  a  rocking-chair  and 
pulled  me  down  upon  his  lap ;  and  for  several 
minutes  sat  and  rocked  me,  smoothing  my 
tousled  tresses  and  patting  my  cheek — as 
one  would  soothe  a  fretful  child.  And  what 
else  was  I,  Nell  mine — but  a  spoiled  child 
grieving  over  a  broken  toy?  But,  oh,  it  was 
good  to  have  a  good  cry — especially  in  Jack's 
arms!  And  hope — effulgent  hope,  and  wild, 
ecstatic  joy  came  into  my  heart! 

"Jack,"  I  murmured  at  last,  lifting  my 
head  and  fixing  my  eyes  upon  his  homely 
face,  "you're  not  going  to — to  get  married, 
are  you?  Say  you're  not — please  do!" 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  get  married,  little 
girl?"  he  questioned,  in  a  tone  of  infinite 
kindness. 

"Of  course  I  don't,  Jack." 

"And  that's  what  brought  you  home— 
my  writing  you  that  I  thought  of  getting 
married?" 

"Why,  certainly." 

"But  why  don't  you  want  me  to  marry, 
Marjory?" 

21 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Why!"— I  felt  my  anger  rising;  and  I 
know  the  red  must  have  flared  up  in  my 
cheeks,  for  Jack  smilingly,  deprecatingly  shook 
his  head  at  me. — "Why!  Jack,  you're  as 
unreasonable  as  Aunt  Dodo.  I  don't  want 
you  to  marry  because — because — oh,  for  so 
many  reasons!  And— 

"No,  you  hain't  got  no  reason,  Marjie," 
Aunt  Dodo  broke  in  on  me,  "why  Jack 
shouldn't  git  married — if  he  wants  to;  but 
the  cause  of  y'r  objections — an'  the  only 
cause — is  y'r  own  selfishness."-  —Wasn't  that 
mean — wasn't  that  awful,  Nell?  And  from 
Aunt  Dodo,  who  had  always  humored  me  and 
taken  my  side  in  every  difference  of  opinion 
between  Jack  and  me,  heretofore!  I  was 
shocked  beyond  measure;  the  solid  earth 
seemed  crumbling  from  beneath  my  feet!— 
"You're  jest  like  I  was  when  my  father  mar- 
ried his  second  wife;  an'  you're  actin'  jest 
as  foolish  as  /  did  then.  Jack's  alluz  petted 
you  an'  spoiled  you,  an'  let  you  boss  over 
him;  an'  now  you  can't  bear  the  thought  o' 
him  havin'  any  other  boss — you  want  to 
keep  him  all  to  y'rself.  But  he's  old  enough 
to  know  his  own  business;  an' — goodness 

22 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

knows! — he's  old  enough  to  git  married.  The 
thing  fer  you  to  do  is  to  jest  step  aside  an' 
let  him  do  as  he  pleases.  You'll  be  wantin' 
to  git  married  y'rself,  one  o'  these  days;  an' 
you  won't  want  him  objectin'  then.  That's 
all  I've  got  to  say;  an'  I  guess  I'll  go  an'  finish 
puttin'  the  dishes  in  the  cupboard,  then  fix 
y'r  room  fer  you  an'  go  to  bed." 

I  sat  in  speechless  wonder — and  horror, 
until  Aunt  Dodo  was  out  of  the  room  and  the 
door  was  closed.  Then  I  hastily  scrambled 
from  Jack's  lap,  smoothed  down  my  skirts 
and  flounced  into  a  chair,  and  exclaimed: 

"Well,  I'll  declare!  Jack  Dawes,  I  almost 
hate  her  I" 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  Marjie!"  he  said 
coaxingly .  "  Aunt  Dodo  means  all  right — you 
know  that;  and  she  is  all  right.  That  is,"- 
he  hastened  to  add, — "I  don't  mean  she's 
all  right  when  she  says  you're  spoiled  and 
selfish;  I  know  you  better  than  to  think  that 
of  you.  But  she's  all  right  about  me  being 
old  enough  to — to— 

"Old  enough  to  know  your  own  business, 
old  enough  to  get  married — old  enough  to 
make  a  fool  of  yourself,"  I  sneered. 

23 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Well,  yes/'  Jack  returned,  nodding  and 
smiling  inanely. 

"Jack,  I  tell  you  I  almost  hate  her,"  I 
snapped  spitefully;  "I  do  hate  her — I  do! 
So  there!" 

"Tut — tut!"  he  replied  gravely,  sternly, 
pulling  agitatedly  at  his  stubby  straw- 
colored  mustache.  "You  mustn't  talk  so, 
Marjory;  you'll  be  sorry  when  you've  had 
time  to  consider,  and— 

"I  won't,  Jack!" 

"Yes,  you  will." 

"I  say  I  won't!     Now!" 

"Aunt  Dodo  has  been  very  good  to  us  all 
these  years,  little  girl." 

"I  don't  care." 

"And  she  loves  you." 

"She  doesn't;  and  I  don't  care  if  she  does." 

"Why,  Marjory  Dawes!" 

I  could  see  that  my  perversity  hurt  him; 
and  that  hurt  me.  But  I  didn't  care,  Nell; 
I  had  been  hurt  so  much,  a  little  more  didn't 
matter — and  I  wanted  to  hurt  somebody.  So 
I  reiterated  vixenishly: 

"I  hate  her,  Jack;  I  don't  care  what  you 
think  of  me," 

24 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

The  merest  semblance  of  a  smile  quivered 
the  corners  of  his  wide  mouth,  as  he  murmured 
half-pathetically : 

"I  guess  you  do  hate  her,  little  girl.  And 
why?  Just  because  she  holds  I've  a  right  to 
marry — if  I  so  desire?" 

I  nodded,  angrily  tapping  the  carpet  with 
the  toe  of  my  swinging  foot. 

"Well,  haven't  I  the  right?" 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you  have  the  right,  Jack — 
if  you've  so  little  sense  as  to  have  the  desire!" 

"  You  consider  me  foolish  to  think  of  marry- 
ing?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Why?      I'm    old    enough— eh?" 

"  Old  enough ! "  I  fleered  scornfully.  "  You're 
too  old." 

"  I'm  only  thirty-nine,  Marjie." 

"Only  thirty-nine!"  I  cried  aghast.  "Jack 
Dawes,  are  you  already  in  your  dotage — not 
to  realize  that  you're  getting  old,  when  you'll 
be  forty  your  next  birthday?  Why,  your  hair's 
turning  gray — what  little  you've  got  left;  and 
your  face  is  wrinkled;  and — and  you're  old." 

He  smiled — actually  smiled,  very  compla- 
cently, I  thought. 

25 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"You  offer  my  age  as  a  reason  why  I 
shouldn't  enter  into  wedlock,  Marjory?"  he 
inquired. 

"To  be  sure  I  do,"  I  made  reply. 

"Well,"  he  drawled  provokingly,  "I  can't 
look  upon  that  reason  as  valid,  seeing  Miss 
Crewe,  the  young  lady  who  has  honored  my 
suit — and  who  is  the  most-interested  party, 
offers  no  objections  to  my  age." 

"Miss  Crewe — a  young  lady!"  I  sneered. 
"Jack,  she's  every  day  of  thirty." 

"And  7  don't  object  to  her  age,"  he  grinned. 

"You're  both  fools!"   I   cried  snappishly. 

"Perhaps,"  he  laughed;  "but  we're  happy 
in  our  mutual  foolishness,  and  have  no  desire 
to  be  saved  from  our  plight." 

Apparently  I  was  not  winning  my  big 
brother  from  the  error  of  his  ways — not 
swiftly,  at  any  rate.  I  must  try  another  pro- 
cedure. 

"Jack,"  I  asked  after  a  moment's  thought, 
"why  did  you  send  me  away  to  business 
college?" 

"Why  did  I  send  you  away  to  business 
college?"  —with  a  perplexed  stare. 

"Yes." 

26 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"  Why,  to  fit  you  for  office  work — that  you 
might  the  better  assist  me  in  the  store  and 
help  me  in  running  my  business,  of  course." 

"That  was  your  idea — your  intention?" 

"Certainly.  But  what  are  you  driving  at, 
Marjory — what  prompts  you  to  ask  such  a 
question?  " 

Unheeding  his  query,  I  continued:  "And 
you  meant  for  me  to  come  home  and  live 
with  Aunt  Dodo  and  you,  and  help  to  look 
after  your  business?" 

"I  meant  you  to  graduate  first — not  to 
come  home  as  you  have,  Marjory." 

"I  know.    But  you  meant  the  other,  too?" 

"About  your  living  with  me  and  helping 
me  in  the  store?" 

"Yes." 

"Why,  of  course." 

His  perplexity  was  evident — and  amusing. 

"What  led  you  to  change  your  plans, 
Jack?"  I  asked  innocently. 

"Change  my  plans?" 

"Yes." 

"I  haven't.  I  still  desire  and  expect  you 
to  live  with  me — with  us,  and  help  me— 
that  is,  us — in  the  store.  I  won't  send  you 

27 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

back  to  graduate  —  as  you've  seen  fit  to  come 
home  without  consulting  me;  but  you've 
probably  learned  all  that's  needful  —  a  diploma 
of  itself  amounts  to  little.  No,  I  haven't 
changed  my  plans  in  a  single  particular, 
Marjory;  my  marriage  will  make  no  difference, 
whatever." 

"Jack,  my  brother,"  I  said  with  all  the 
earnestness  and  solemnity  at  my  command, 
"it  will  make  all  the  difference  in  the  world." 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  —quickly,  concern- 
edly. 

"I  can't  stay  here,  Jack  —  if  you   marry." 


"I  can't  —  and  won't." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  Jack,  how  can  you  ask  such  a  ques- 
tion!" —My  voice  was  tremulous  with  emo- 
tion, my  lips  were  quivering  and  ever-ready 
tears  were  in  my  eyes.  Really,  Sweet  Nell, 
I  felt  all  I  expressed;  and  Jack  must  have 
realized  the  fact,  for  his  face  reflected  the 
momentary  compassion  he  felt.  —  "Do  you 
think  I  can  live  in  this  house  with  her— 
work  in  the  store  with  her?  After  all  you've 
been  to  me,  Jack  —  father,  mother,  brother, 

28 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

everything,  do  you  think  I  can  stand  it  to  see 
you  making  over  her,  and — and  neglecting 
me?  There's  no  use  talking,  I  can't — I  can't! 
And,  oh,  Jack,  I've  dreamed  of  the  good  times 
we  were  going  to  have — just  you  and  I! 
You'll  break  my  heart,  if  you  get  married!" 

He  shrugged  his  round  shoulders,  and 
screwed  his  rugged  features  into  a  serio-comic 
expression. 

"There'll  always  be  room  in  my  heart  and 
my  home  for  you,  little  sister,"  he  muttered 
huskily. 

"Xo,  there  won't,  Jack — no,  there  won't; 
I'll  be  crowded  out!  And  I— 

He  raised  his  hand,  commanding  me  to  stop; 
and  the  look  upon  his  face,  rather  than  his 
gesture,  awed  me  to  silence. 

"Marjory,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "you  must 
not — you  shall  not  talk  that  way!  You  hurt 
me.  I've  tried  hard  to  do  my  duty  by  you; 
and  I'll  continue  to  try.  I  love  you  just  as 
I've  always  loved  you;  and  I'll  always  love 
you  just  as  I  do  to-night.  But,  as  you  well 
say,  I'm  getting  up  in  years;  and,  if  I'm 
ever  going  to  marry,  it's  time  I  should  be  doing 
it.  You'll  get  married  some  day," — I  tried 

29 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

to  offer  a  word  of  dissent,  but  he  shut  me  off 
with  a  frown  and  a  shake  of  his  head. — "Aunt 
Dodo  will  die,  and  then — if  I  have  no  wife— 
I'll  be  left  all  alone.  I  can't  bear  the  thought 
of  the  prospect.  No,  little  sister,  my  marriage 
won't  make  any  difference  in  our  affairs;  you'll 
have  a  home  with  Dorothy  and  Aunt  Dodo 
and  me,  and  a  place  in  the  store.  Be  reason- 
able, now — won't  you?" 

"Jack,  I  can't!" 

"You  can't  be  reasonable?"  —half  smiling. 

"  No — no ! "  —irritably. — "  I  can't  stay  here, 
if  you  marry.  Promise  me  that  you'll  give 
it  up,  Jack — promise  me  you  won't  get 
married;  please — please  do!" 

"I  can't  promise  anything  like  that,  sister." 

"Why?"— frantically.— "Why  can't  you- 
why  can't  you?" 

"Because  I  must  keep  the  promise  I've 
made  to  Dorothy — Miss  Crewe." 

"Then  you  think  more  of  her  than  you  do 
of  me," — angrily. 

"  Now,  Marjory ! " — reproachfully. 

"Oh,  you  do!" 

"Well,"— slowly  and  stubbornly,— " you'll 
have  to  think  what  you  please,  I  suppose. 

30 


However,  I'm  going  to  marry  Dorothy  Crewe." 

"You  are!"— coldly. 

"I  am/"  —frigidly. 

"That's  final,  is  it,  Jack  Dawes?" 

"It  is,  Marjory  Dawes." 

We  sat  unwaveringly,  unflinchingly  gazing 
straight  into  each  other's  eyes.  I  heard 
Aunt  Dodo  ascending  the  back  stairs.  Sore 
with  defeat  and  disappointment,  I  said  at 
last: 

"Then,   I'm  going  away — to-morrow." 

"Going  away — where?"  Jack  replied. 

"To  some  city.' 

"What  for?" 

"To  get  a  position." 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Won't  you  wait  till  after  my  wedding?" 

"No,  I  won't." 

"Indeed?" 

"Indeed!" 

"People  will  talk,  Marjory." 

"7  don't  care;  /  won't  be  here  to  know  it." 

"But  7  will." 

"That's  your  business;  and  you've  been 
at  some  pains  to  make  clear  to  me  that  you're 

31 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

old  enough  to  look  after  your  own  affairs."- 
I  saw  him  wince;    and,  emboldened,  I  went 
on: — "And,  I  flatter  myself,  I'm  old  enough 
to  look  after  mine." 

"But  you're  not." 

I  started,  dimly  divining  what  was  coming. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  demanded  with 
dignity. — And  you  know  what  the  word 
dignity  means  when  applied  to  my  behavior, 
Nell. 

Jack  answered  composedly:  "I  mean  just 
this,  Marjory — my  misguided  little  sister, 
you're  not  going  away  from  this  town  to-mor- 
row— nor  till  after  I'm  married;  and  you're 
not  going  away  to  any  city  to  hunt  work,  at 
any  time.  Let's  have  a  plain,  blunt  and  final 
understanding,  right  now.  I  sent  you  away 
to  business  college,  to  fit  you  to  assist  me  in 
the  store;  and  I  need  you — and  I'm  going  to 
keep  you.  When  I've  had  a  fair  return  from 
my  investment, — say  several  years  from  now, 
—if  you  don't  marry  in  the  meantime,  and 
then  desire  to  go  out  into  the  big  world  to 
battle  alone,  you  can  go.  But  now  you're 
too  young,  too  inexperienced,  too  erratic— 
and  entirely  too  good-looking.''-— Too  good- 

32 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

looking!  Think  of  unromantic,  matter-of- 
fact  old  Jack  saying  that!  Nell,  he  almost 
won  me  over — with  his  blarney! — "You'll 
get  into  trouble.  So  I  don't  care  to  discuss 
the  matter  further,  Marjory;  you  can't  go." 

"That's   your   decision,    eh?" — sneeringly. 

"It  is,"— flatly. 

"Well,  it  isn't  mine." 

"Yours  cuts  no  figure." 

"What!" 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,  Marjie." 

"Jack  Dawes!"— my  voice  vibrating  with 
mingled  antagonistic  emotions. 

He  nodded  stubbornly. 

"You   mean   that  you'll — you'll   keep  me 
from   going — against   my   will?" 

"If  necessary — yes." 

"Jack,surely — surely  you  don't  mean  that!" 

"I  do." 

"Jack  Dawes,  you're  a  brute!" 

"Call  me  anything  you  please,  little  girl; 
it's  the  reward  I  get  for  all  I've  done  for  you— 
I  suppose." 

"I  don't  mean  that,  Jack;    but  you  are 
acting  mean — shabby,  so  you  are." 

"No  doubt  you  think  so." 

33 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  saw  that  he  was  set,  Nell;  and  when  an 
easy-going,  poky  fellow  like  Jack  gets  set 
he's  "sot."  I  realized  that  he  was  not  to  be 
moved  by  arguments  or  appeals  a  bit  more 
than  a  meeting-house  is  to  be  moved  by  one's 
breath.  But  I  was  not  ready  to  give  up,  I  had 
no  intention  of  relinquishing  my  purpose; 
and  I  thought  it  no  more  than  fair  to  so  apprise 
him. 

"You're  not  my  guardian,  Jack/'  I  pouted. 

"I  am — self-appointed,"  he  declared  com- 
placently. 

"You're  not;  and  I'll  do  as  I  please." 

"You'll  do  as  pleases  me — in  this,  Marjory." 

"I  won't;   I'm  of  legal  age." 

He  simply  smiled  a  mean,  sarcastic  smile. 

"Do  you  mean  to  violate  the  law,  Jack 
Dawes,  by  holding  me  here  against  my  will?" 

"You'll  find  that  I'm  a  law  and  gospel 
unto  myself,  in  this  case,  Miss  Marjie." 

Did  you  ever,  Nell  Adams!  Jack  Dawes— 
Jack,  that  I  had  always  wound  around  my 
little  finger,  acting  like  that!  From  that 
moment  I  lost  all  feeling  against  Dorothy 
Crewe, — poor,  wishy-washy  little  thing! — and 
profoundly  pitied  her. 

34 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

Exasperated  beyond  endurance  by  Jack's 
pigheadedness,  I  cried  tauntingly: 

"  Oh,  yes,  you'll  keep  me  from  going !  How 
will  you  do  it — I'd  like  to  know?  How  will 
you  do  it?  Will  you  keep  me  a  prisoner?" 

" Prisoner  is  a  harsh  word,"  he  said;  and 
he  had  the  ill  manners  to  chuckle. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  I  assented  readily  and  feel- 
ingly. 

"But,"  he  continued  heartlessly,  "I'll  keep 
you  prisoner,  in  a  sense,  till  you  come  to 
reason  and  promise  me  to  abandon  your 
childish  notion  of  running  away.  I'll  grant 
you .  the  freedom  of  the  village,  but  I'll  see 
that  you  don't  leave  its  precincts." 

"Oh,  you  will!"  I  cried  hotly. 

"Yes,  I  mil,"  he  replied  coldly. 

"  But  if  I  give  you  my  promise  to  stay  here 
and  be  your  meek  and  obedient  little  underling 
-what  then?" 

A  spasm  of  pain  twitched  his  features- 
Jack's  dear  old  features,  Nell;  my  words  cut 
him  I  knew.  For  the  moment  I  pitied  him — 
pitied  him  that  he  was  such  an  obstinate  dolt. 

"If  you  promise  what  I  desire,  Marjory," 
he  made  answer  to  my  question,  "you  may 

35 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

come  and  go  at  will;  I've  always  found  you 
honorable — you  always  keep  your  promise." 

"Which  is  commendable — and  rare,  Mr. 
Dawes,"  I  laughed  bitterly;  "and  far  more 
than  some  persons  do." — Again  he  winced, 
and  again  I  felt  a  grain  of  pity  for  the  big 
stupid  fellow;  but  I  concluded:  "And  I  keep 
my  resolves,  too;  don't  forget  that." 

"And?"  he  questioned,  lifting  his  shaggy 
brows. 

"And  I've  resolved  to  leave  Chesterville 
to-morrow — never  to  return." 

"Very  well;   I'll  see  that  you  don't." 

"Very  well;   I'll  see  that  I  do!" 

Then  I  arose  and  swept  out  of  the  room, 
and  up  the  stairs  to  bed ;  and  far  into  the  after 
hours  of  the  night  I  lay  tossing  and  turning, 
pondering  and  wondering,  scheming  and  plan- 
ning. 


36 


III. 

WHEN  I  descended  to  the  dining-room  next 
morning,  cross  and  heavy-eyed,  Jack  had  al- 
ready eaten  his  breakfast  and  gone  to  the 
store.  Aunt  Dodo  was  sitting  in  her  accus- 
tomed place  at  the  table,  leisurely  and  critic- 
ally sipping  her  coffee.  She  accorded  me  a 
cheery  good-morning;  but  I  merely  nodded 
and  murmured  a  surly  response — half  aloud. 

When  I  had  forced  down  a  few  mouthfuls 
and  pushed  away  from  the  board,  I  inquired 
carelessly,  stiffly: 

"Did  Jack  take  my  trunk  up-stairs?" 

She  gulped  down  a  swallow  of  coffee,  and 
nodded. 

"Where  did  he  put  it?" 

"In  the  spare  bedroom,"  she  made  answer. 

"I  guess  Til  go  up  and  unpack,"  I  re- 
marked, rising. 

I  meant  to  slip  a  few  things  out  of  the 
trunk  and  into  a  traveling-bag,  thus  pre- 
paring for  hasty  flight. 

"You  can't,"  Aunt  Dodo  said;  "Jack  took 
the  key  with  him." 

37 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"The  key?"  I  murmured,  wondering  what 
she  could  mean.  "The  key  to  my  trunk? 
No,  he  didn't;  it's  up-stairs  in  my  pocket- 
book." 

"It  was  the  key  to  the  door  he  took/'  she 
explained. 

"O— oh!"  I  ejaculated. 

"Yes,"  she  responded. 

"He  locked  up  my  trunk  in  the  spare  bed- 
room— and  took  the  key?"  I  cried,  aghast; 
I  had  not  thought  Jack  capable  of  such  a 
questionable  act. 

"He  did,"  Aunt  Dodo  replied  composedly 
— the  merest  hint  of  ignoble  joy  in  her  tone 
and  manner. 

"Oh!"  was  all  I  could  say — and  restrain 
myself;  I  wanted  to  fly  at  her — and  scratch 
her. 

Dignifiedly,  deliberately,  I  left  the  dining- 
room  and  ascended  the  back  stairs  to  my  own 
apartment.  There  I  sat  down  by  an  open 
window,  to  think. 

I  was  more  determined  than  ever,  to  leave; 
I  did  not  need  to  assure  myself  of  that  fact. 
But  what  was  I  to  do?  How  was  I  to  get 
away?  I  felt  that  Jack  —  the  pig-headed 

38 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

country  bumpkin! — would  not  relent  and  let 
me  have  my  things;  he  was  too  cock-sure 
that  he  was  in  the  right — too  complacent  in 
his  smug  holiness.  And  I  had  nothing  but 
the  clothes  upon  my  back — a  traveling-suit, 
and  a  few  toilet  articles  in  my  traveling-bag. 
Then,  how  was  I  to  get  out  of  town  and  to 
the  railroad — at  Stockton,  say?  I  couldn't 
go  in  the  hack — of  course  not!  It  had  gone 
already!  And  I  couldn't  go  in  it  the  next 
day,  even;  Jack  would  be  on  the  watch— 
and  make  a  scene,  if  nothing  more.  And  I 
didn't  want  a  scene!  No  doubt,  too,  he  had 
barred  me  from  procuring  a  conveyance  at 
the  livery  stable;  he'd  be  sure  to  look  after 
that,  I  reasoned.  Of  course  I  could  compel 
him  to  hand  over  my  trunk  to  me  and  let 
me  go  in  peace,  by  appealing  to  a  justice. 
But  I  didn't  want  to  do  that,  Nell;  I've  some 
sense  of  propriety  and  the  true  proportion 
of  things  fit  and  seemly.  I  simply  desired 
to  get  away  from  the  town — quietly,  unos- 
tentatiously, immediately — and  never  come 
back.  But  how  was  I  to  accomplish  my  pur- 
pose? I  thought — and  thought;  and  could 
evolve  no  plan. 

39 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

I  felt  that  I  must  get  out  in  the  open  air 
for  a  walk,  to  clear  my  muddled  brain;  and 
I  put  on  my  hat  and  went.  Wishing  to 
avoid  all  friends  and  acquaintances,  I  took 
a  quiet  lane  leading  to  the  cemetery  at  the 
far  edge  of  the  town.  But  fate  was  against 
me.  And  who  do  you  suppose  was  the  first 
person  I  met — just  as  I  was  turning  into  the 
narrow  byway?  Dorothy  Crewe!  She,  too, 
had  been  out  for  a  morning  ramble,  and  was 
on  her  way  to  the  schoolhouse;  and  as  soon 
as  she  saw  me  she  was  all  giggling  cordiality 
and  silly  effusiveness.  I  knew  at  once  that 
Jack  had  been  to  see  her  that  very  morning, 
had  told  her  everything,  and  had  prompted 
her  how  to  act — what  to  do  and  say — when 
she  met  me. 

Well,  I  let  her  do  the  talking,  Nell;  I 
simply  called  her  "Miss  Crewe" — and  failed 
to  see  the  hand  she  offered  me.  The  poor, 
insignificant  little  thing!  I  disliked  to  act  so 
rude;  but  I  couldn't  help  it — I  just  couldn't! 

She  was  so  glad  to  see  me;  so  pleased  to 
know  that  I  was  so  interested  in  Jack's  wel- 
fare, as  to  come  right  home  to  learn  whom 
he  was  to  marry;  so  desirous  of  being  my 

40 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

friend — and  sister;  so  full  of  happy  antici- 
pations of  the  pleasant  times  we'd  have  to- 
gether— in  our  home  and  our  store;  so — so — 
so,  ad  disgustum,  ad  never-endum! 

When  I'd  had  all  I  could  stand,  Nell  mine, 
I  just  walked  on  and  left  her — without  so 
much  as  a  word  in  reply,  or  a  backward 
glance.  I  wasn't  hurt — I  was  past  being 
hurt,  I  guess;  but  I  was  mad,  mad  all 
through — and  wildly  resolved  to  depart  from 
the  mean  little  burg — that  very  day,  and  no 
later! — if  I  had  to  crawl  on  hands  and  knees. 
And  I  wondered  how  I  ever  had  tolerated 
the  place! 

I  strolled  on  out  the  lane,  apathetically 
pondering  whether  I  had  one  true  friend  in 
the  town,  who  would  understand  me  and 
sympathize  with  me;  and  blundering  along 
thus,  with  my  head  down,  I  plumped  right 
into  Colonel  Wells — Kate  Brown's  uncle  from 
the  South.  I  had  met  him  before — but 
hardly  so  informally.  Kate's  an  orphan  and 
a  seamstress;  and  her  uncle  comes  up  from 
Georgia  every  year,  to  spend  the  summer 
with  her.  He's  a  gay  old  gallant,  Nell — a 
hale  old  beau  of  sixty,  at  least — with  soft, 

41 


drawling  voice,  and  long  white  hair  and  fierce 
mustachios  and  goatee;  and  he's  blessed  with 
all  the  courtliness  and  graciousness  imaginable. 

"Why — why,  it's  you,  Miss  Dawes!"  he 
drawled,  as  we  rebounded  from  the  impact 
of  our  encounter.  "I  beg  a  thousand  par- 
dons, Miss  Dawes — indeed  I  do.  It  was  very 
careless  of  me  to  run  into  you;  I  was  dream- 
ing day-dreams — and  not  observing  where  I 
was  going.  I  do  indeed  beg  your  pardon." 

And  there  he  stood — his  broad-brimmed 
soft  hat  in  his  hand,  and  pressed  against  his 
heart — making  me  a  sweeping  bow. 

I  smiled — a  little  wanly,  a  little  wearily— 
and   replied:     "You   owe   me   no   apologies, 
Colonel.     I  was  as  much  to  blame  as  you, 
maybe  more;   I,  too,  was  heedless  of  my  sur- 
roundings." 

Again  he  bowed;  but  slowly  shook  his 
handsome  white  head. 

"No — no,  Miss  Dawes,"  he  insisted;  "I 
do  owe  you  apologies.  A  gentleman  always 
owes  a  lady  apologies,  after  a  mishap  of  the 
kind  that  has  befallen  us — no  matter  whether 
anybody's  to  blame." — I  despair  of  convey- 
ing, in  cold,  insensate  black-and-white,  Nell, 

42 


any  idea  of  his  quaint  and  kindly  manner  of 
speech — any  idea,  even  the  faintest,  of  his 
soft  and  seductive  intonation  of  voice;  so  I 
won't  attempt  the  impossible.  But  I  know 
my  heart  bounded  with  relief  and  gladness; 
I  had  met  a  friend — and  I  knew  it. — "  I  didn't 
know  you  were  at  home;  but  I'm  delighted 
to  find  that  you  are — and  to  have  this  gra- 
cious opportunity  of  talking  to  you.  I  just 
came  up  North  last  week;  and  I  made  in- 
quiry about  you  as  soon  as  I  arrived.  You've 
always  been  a  great  favorite  of  mine,  you 
know,  Miss  Dawes.  But  they  told  me  you 
were  away  at  school,  at  business  college,  I 
believe  they  said;  and  I've  been  quite  lone- 
some— really  quite  lonesome.  I  was  walking 
along,  moodily  and  seriously  contemplating 
a  return  to  the  South,  when  fate  threw  us 
together.  That  is,  I  don't  literally  mean  that. 
I  mean  that  I'm  pleased,  delighted  beyond 
measure,  to  learn  you're  at  home;  and  now 
I'll  stay  here — perfectly  contented  and  happy. 
But — but,  Miss  Dawes — Miss  Marjory,  if  I 
may  make  so  free  as  to  inquire,  when  did 
you  arrive  in  town?" 

"Last  evening,"  I  informed  him. 

43 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Ah?" —scraping  and  smiling. 

"Yes," — nodding  brightly. 

"You  came  rather  suddenly — rather  unex- 
pectedly, did  you  not,  eh?  I  was  talking  to 
your  brother  about  you  yesterday,  down  at 
the  store,  and  he  said  nothing  of  your  im- 
mediate return;  in  fact,  I  recall  that  he  told 
me  you  would  not  be  home  till  next  month." 

"Yes,"  was  all  I  found  to  say. 

The  good  Colonel  absent-mindedly  put  his 
hat  on  his  head,  interlocked  his  fingers  under 
his  long,  full  coat  tails,  and  teetered  back  and 
forth  upon  heels  and  toes  as  he  said  stam- 
meringly : 

"Miss  Dawes — ah — Miss — Miss  Marjory, 
don't  think  me  inquisitive  or  impertinent,  but 
you  came  home  to  help  along  the  wedding, 
eh?  That  is,  may  I  presume  that — am  I  to 
presume  that?" 

"No,  you're  not  to  presume  anything  of 
the  kind,  Colonel  Wells,"  I  hastened  to  say; 
"I  came  home  to  prevent  the  wedding." 

"  Oh ! "  —pursing  his  lips  and  nodding  sagely. 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"I  see — I  see;  in  fact,  I  suspected  as  much. 
I  thought  I  knew  just  how  you'd  feel  about 

44 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

the  —  the  unusual  affair.  And  —  and  — 
you've" — 

"And  I've  failed/'  I  completed. 

"I  see," — again  nodding,  and  pulling  vig- 
orously at  his  fierce-looking  mustachios. — "I 
suspected  that,  too — from  your  preoccupa- 
tion, your  moodiness.  Now,  Miss  Marjory, 
you  know  I'm  your  sincere  friend,  don't  you?  " 

"I  do,  Colonel,"  I  answered  earnestly. 

"You  don't  know  how  pleased  I  am  to  hear 
you  say  that,"  he  muttered  huskily,  feelingly. 
"I  know  now  you'll  understand  my  motive 
in  questioning  you,  as  I've  taken  the  liberty 
of  doing,  is  not  mere  idle  curiosity;  and  I 
know,  too,  you'll  not  take  offense  if  I  pursue 
the  subject  further — eh?" 

"Indeed  I  won't,  Colonel." 

The  dear,  ingenuous  old  man!  He  little 
suspected,  Sweet  Nell,  how  eager  I  was  to 
have  him  know  all  about  my  affairs.  Al- 
ready I  was  elated;  already  my  heart  was 
beating  rapturously  at  thought  that — in  some 
way,  I  knew  not  how — he  might  be  able  to 
help  me  out  of  my  quandary. 

"Well,  then,"  he  continued,  "what  are  you 
thinking  of  doing — seeing  your  brother  has 

45 


determined  to  make  a  fool — that  is,  to  marry? 
Will  you  stay  here — live  with  him  and  his 
new  wife?" 

"I — will — not!"  I  declared  with  emphasis. 

"I  thought  you  wouldn't;  and  I'm  grati- 
fied to  find  that  I  understand  you  so  well. 
But  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Miss  Marjory?" 

"I'm  going  to  leave." 

"Yes?" 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"I'm  sorry  you  have  to  go;  yet  I  rejoice 
at  the  manifestation  of  your  independent 
spirit.  So  you'll  bid  a  fond  goodbye  to  old 
Chesterville,  eh?" 

"Yes,  Colonel;   that  is,  if  I  can  get  away." 

"If  you  can  get  away?  Why,  what's  to 
hinder  you,  Miss  Marjory?" 

"Jack." 

"Your  brother?" 

"Yes." 

"He— he— " 

"He  says  I  shan't  go." 

"What!" 

"He  does." 

"Oh,  my!"  cried  the  Colonel  in  genuine 
astonishment — akin  to  dismay.  "  Why,  what 

46 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

reason  can  he  have  for  saying  you  shan't  go, 
Miss  Marjory?" 

"  He  says  he  has  provided  for  me,  educated 
me;  and,  that  now  he  needs  me  in  the  store, 
I  must  stay  and  help  him." 

"I  see," — nodding  gravely;  "all  very  rea- 
sonable, but  narrow — illiberal.  He  oughtn't 
to  look  upon  the  case  in  that  way,  in  my 
estimation.  It's  not  my  province  to  criti- 
cize, of  course;  but  you're  of  legal  age,  and 
should  be  permitted  to  choose  for  yourself— 
whether  you  go  or  stay.  No  doubt,  however, 
your  brother — he's  a  reasonable  fellow,  in  the 

«/ 

main,  I  think — will  see  the  thing  in  the  right 
light,  when  he  has  had  time  to  think  it  over; 
and  will  give  his  consent  to  your  going.  Eh?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"You  think  not?" —in  evident  surprise. 

"I  know  he  won't,"  I  said  positively. 

"Indeed!"  the  Colonel  ejaculated,  as- 
tounded. Then,  after  a  moment's  profound 
reflection:  "Well,  you  can  go  without  his 
consent.  Of  course  I  wouldn't  advise  you 
to  do  that,  ordinarily;  but  you  can — if  nec- 
essary." 

"But  I  can't,  Colonel." 

47 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Eh?" — quickly  and  sharply. 

"Jack  says  I  can't  leave  the  town  at  all, 
for  any  purpose,  till  I've  promised  him  that 
I  won't  go  to  the  city,  to  hunt  a  position; 
and  he's  watching  me." 

"You  don't  say!"  gasped  the  Colonel. 

I  nodded — with  difficulty  refraining  from 
smiling  at  the  look  of  mild  amazement  upon 
his  clean-skinned  old  face. 

"And  he's  locked  up  my  clothes,"  I  con- 
cluded pathetically. 

"  What ! "  —perfectly  dumbfounded. 

"He  has,  Colonel." 

"You're — you're  joking,  Miss  Marjory,"  he 
muttered  hoarsely;  "you  don't  mean  it — that 
your  brother,  your  own  and  only  brother,  is 
such  a — a  brute!" 

"I  mean  every  word  I  say,  Colonel  Wells," 
I  assured  him  solemnly. 

"My — my!"  he  growled,  almost  snatching 
his  goatee  out  root  and  stem,  so  savagely  did 
he  pull  at  it.  "That's  simply  awful — awful! 
In  a  free  country  like  this,  too!  Make  a  vir- 
tual prisoner  of  an  innocent  young  lady;  and 
lock  up  her  clothing;  and  exercise  surveil- 
lance over  her  actions  and  movements!  Oh, 

48 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

it's  unchivalric,  inhuman,  preposterous!  I 
didn't  think  it  of  your  brother,  Miss  Dawes 
—I  didn't!  Why — what — can  he  have  any 
other  reason  for  such  radical  measures;  any 
real  reason  why  you  shouldn't  come  and  go 
at  your  own  sweet  will?" 

After  momentary  hesitation,  I  said  coquet- 
tishly : 

"He  says  I'm  too  young,  too  erratic,  to 
know  how  to  deport  myself — to  take  care  of 
myself;  and  that  I'm  too — too  pretty,  Colo- 
nel, and  that  I'll  get  into  trouble." 

His  black  eyes  snapped;  a  flash  of  light 
from  his  sunny  heart  irradiated  his  counte- 
nance. Then  a  smile  twitched  the  corners  of 
his  mouth;  and  he  laughed  outright. 

"I  think  he's  just  about  half  right,  Miss 
Marjory — Miss  Dawes.  You  are  most  devil- 
ish pretty;  that  part's  true.  But  as  for  your 
inability  to  take  care  of  yourself — well,  I'd 
put  up  my  money  on  you  every  time.  Get 
into  trouble,  eh?"— again  laughing. — "It's 
my  opinion  it's  the  other  party  will  get  into 
trouble,  when  trouble  comes.  You're  fated 
to  play  the  mischief  with  some  poor  chap's 
heart — and  peace  of  mind.  Why — why,  if  I 

49 


were  twenty  years  younger, — and  the  good 
Lord  knows  I  wish  I  were;  and  never  so  much 
as  right  now! — I'd  be  making  love  to  you 
myself,  this  blessed  minute!" 

"Oh,  Colonel!"  I  tittered  bashfully. 

But  he  said  it  with  all  the  courtesy  and 
sincerity  in  the  world,  Nell;  and  I'm  confi- 
dent he  meant  it.  I  almost  loved  him — the 
dear,  courtly  old  soul! 

However,  his  words  of  praise  had  suggested 
an  idea  to  me;  and  I  started,  and  looked  all 
around  to  note  whether  we  were  observed. 
No  one  was  within  sight  or  hearing. 

"Colonel  Wells,"  I  breathed  softly,  draw- 
ing close  to  him  and  laying  a  hand  caressingly 
upon  his  arm,  "I  must  get  away  from  this 
town,  and  to-day — to-night,  somehow." 

He  gulped  once  or  twice,  nervously  screwed 
his  features  into  a  frown  that  was  patently 
foreign  to  his  nature,  and  muttered  brokenly: 
"So — so  soon,  Miss — Miss  Marjie?" 

"Yes,  Colonel,"  I  answered  sweetly,  glibly; 
"the  sooner  the  better.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"Undoubtedly — yes,  undoubtedly,"  he  re- 
plied in  a  hoarse,  agitated  tone. 

50 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Besides,  Colonel,"  I  went  on,  looking  up 
into  his  face  and  pouting  my  lips  just  the 
least  bit,  "I've  defied  Jack  and  told  him  I'd 
leave  to-day — in  spite  of  his  edict  to  the  con- 
trary; and  I  mustn't  break  my  word — or  my 
resolve.  Now,  must  I?" 

"No,  indeed — of  course  not,"  he  agreed 
readily.  "But — but,  Miss  Marjory,  I — I 
hardly  see  how  you're  to  manage  it.  To  be 
sure  you  could  appeal  to  a  justice,  could 
replevin  your  things,  and— 

"But  I  can't  do  that,  Colonel  Wells." 

"No?" 

"No,  I  can't.  Think  of  the  talk— the  dis- 
grace." 

"True — too  true." — And  he  nodded  ener- 
getically.— "But  what  can  you  do?"— in 
deep  and  genuine  perplexity. 

"Can  you  suggest  no  way  out  of  my  diffi- 
culty, Colonel?" 

He  shook  his  white  head — slowly,  dejectedly. 

"None  at  all?"  I  persisted. 

"None  at  all,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  Miss  Marjie." 

"I'm  sorry  too,  Colonel,"  I  murmured, 
pouting  deliciously  and  snuggling  a  little 
toward  him.  "For  I — I  thought  maybe  you 

51 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

—you  could  help  me;  you're  so — so  chivalric 
and — and— 

"Heaven  knows  I'd  like  to  help  you,  Miss 
Marjie,"  he  cried;  "nothing  would  please  me 
more.  And  I  would  help  you,  if  only  I  could 
think  of  a  way.  I'd  cut  off  my  right  arm  for 
you — if  it  would  do  any  good." 

"Colonel,"  I  said  coyly,  "you  can  help  me, 
if — if  you  will." 

"Only  show  me  the  way,"  he  muttered, 
tragically  striking  his  chest  with  his  clenched 
hand. 

"You  won't  think  me  bold,  no  matter  what 
—what  I  propose?"  I  whispered  hesitatingly, 
smiling  archly  at  him. 

"Never!    Never,  Miss  Marjory!" 

"Colonel,  I  want  you  to — to — oh,  how  can 
I  tell  you!  You  will  think  me  bold — awful! 
But  I  must  tell  you;  I've  no  one  else  to  appeal 
to.  / — want — you — to — elope — with — me! " 

I  don't  know  how  I  did  it,  Nell  Adams! 
I  must  have  been  desperate,  I  suppose;  and  I 
blush  yet  as  I  think  of  it — yes,  I  do.  But — oh, 
Nell ! — if  you  could  have  seen  that  dear  old 
chap's  face  at  that  moment!  I  wanted  to 
scream  with  laughter;  I  wanted  to  cry  with 

52 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

shame.  But  there's  no  use  for  me  to  try  to 
describe  how  he  looked;  the  nearest  I  can 
come  to  it  is  to  say  that  his  countenance 
was  simply  a  white  death-mask  with  an  open 
mouth  and  two  staring  eyes. 

"Miss  Dawes! — Miss  Marjory! — Miss  Mar- 
jie!"  he  panted  hoarsely.  "You  want  me 
to— to— what?" 

"  I  want  you  to  elope  with  me,  Colonel 
Wells/'  I  responded  shyly,  almost  choking 
with  suppressed  merriment. 

He  took  a  step  backward  and  leaned  heavily 
against  the  paling  fence  behind  him,  weakly 
letting  his  elbows  rest  upon  its  top. 

"Miss  Marjory,"  he  breathed  softly, 
solemnly,  "you  don't  realize  what  you're 
doing — what  you're  saying,  do  you?" 

"Yes,   I  do,   Colonel,"   I  answered  cooly. 

"Asking  me — literally  asking  me! — an  old 
fellow  of  sixty  to  elope  with  you !  Is  that  it?  " 

"It  is,  Colonel." 

"Why,  child — child!  You've  thrown  a 
great  temptation  in  my  way;  how  great  you 
little  know.  I — I  can  hardly  resist.  If  my 
hair  wasn't  quite  so  white — but  pshaw! 
You're  joking — you're  fooling  with  me!" 

53 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"I'm  not  fooling  with  you  at  all,  Colonel; 
I  mean  just  what  I  say." 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  desire  me  to  elope 
with  you,  and — and  marry  you?" 

"No — no!"  I  cried  in  mild  dismay,  glancing 
fearfully  up  and  down  the  quiet  lane.  "You 
don't  understand  me.  I  said  nothing  of 
marriage.  I  want  you  just  to  elope  with  me 
out  of  town.  Can't  you  understand?" 

"I — I  guess  I  do  —  now,"  he  faltered.— 
And,  Nell,  he  really  looked  hurt  and  disap- 
pointed!— "I  must  be  in  my  dotage  already, 
to  have  misunderstood  you;  and  I  sincerely 
beg  your  pardon.  You  just  want  me  to  help 
you  to  escape  from  the  unwarranted  restraint 
your  brother  is  exercising  over  you,  just  to 
bear  you  away  from  here — to  do  the  eloping 
act  only." 

"That's  it,  Colonel." 

"I  see;    I  ought  to  have  seen  at  once." 

"And  won't  you  do  it,  Colonel;  won't 
you — please?" 

His  sweet,  hale  old  face  brightened. 

"What's  to  be  my  reward,  Miss  Marjie?" 
he  questioned,  smiling. 

"  The  satisfaction  of  having  perf ormed  one 

54 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF    MARJORY 

more     chivalric     and     noble     deed/'    I    an- 
swered. 

"And  it's  enough!"  he  cried.  "Miss  Marjie, 
Fll  do  it." 

"You  will— sure,  Colonel?" 

"Dead  sure," — with  convincing  earnestness. 

"Jack  will  be  very  angry  at  you,"  I  sug- 
gested to  test  his  courage. 

"I  won't  mind  that,"  he  laughed  boyishly, 
recklessly.  "It'll  be  a  great  lark;  and  will 
take  me  back  to  other  days — when  larks  were 
no  rare  fowl  with  me.  Oh,  I'll  do  it — never 
f  ear !"  —chuckling,  and  slapping  his  thigh.— 
"We'll  wake  the  sleepy  old  town  up  for  once. 
But  how  far  do  you  want  me  to  take  you, 
Miss  Marjory?" 

"Just  to  Stockton." 

"I  see;  and  that's  all  right.  We  must  be 
circumspect — we  mustn't  carry  the  joke  too 
far;  people  might  take  it  in  earnest.  I  don't 
care  for  myself;  I'd  enjoy  the  reputation  of 
really  eloping  with  you.  But  they  mustn't 
have  a  chance  to  smirch  your  good  name. 
As  I  now  understand  you,  you  just  want  me 
to  get  a  conveyance  at  the  livery  stable  and 
.drive  you  to  Stockton,  to-night.  Am  I  right?  " 

55 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"That's  it  exactly,  Colonel.  And  I  wouldn't 
ask  you  to  do  it — to  elope  with  me," — giving 
him  one  of  my  most  fascinating  smiles, — "if 
any  other  way  of  escape  were  open  to  me. 
But  I  can't  hire  a  conveyance  myself;  Jack 
would  know — and  stop  me.  I — I  don't  very 
much  mind  asking  you,  though,  Colonel 
Wells;  you're  so  chivalrous,  so  kind-hearted. 
And — and  I  like  you;  and  know  you  don't 
mind." 

"Indeed  I  don't!"  the  dear  old  fellow 
declared  stoutly.  "We'll  have  a  great  lark; 
and  I'll  thoroughly  enjoy  it.  What  time 
shall  we  start?" 

"Be  at  the  fork  of  the  road  just  beyond 
our  house,  at  nine  o'clock.  I  doubt  if  I  can 
steal  away  earlier/' 

"Very  well;  I'll  be  on  hand — I  won't  fail 
you.  But  what  will  you  do  about  your 
clothing — your  trunk,  Miss  Marjie?" 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  in  some  way  to  get 
what  I  absolutely  need,  and  pack  it  in  a 
traveling-bag;  if  I  can't,  I'll  go  just  as  I  am. 
I'll  be  ready  and  waiting  at  nine  o'clock." 

"All  right,"  he  said  briskly — very  briskly 
for  him,  usually  so  deliberate.  "And  now 

56 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

we'd  better  separate;  someone  might  see  us 
together,  and  say  something  that  would 
frustrate  our  plans." 

"Goodbye,  Colonel — till  to-night,"  I  mur- 
mured sweetly,  giving  him  my  hand. 

"Goodbye,  Miss  Marjory — and  good  luck 
to  our  venture." 

I  returned  to  the  house,  treading  upon  air, 
Nell, — my  heart,  head  and  heels  as  light  as 
thistle-downs.  I  was  going  to  outwit  and 
defeat  Jack! 

Aunt  Dodo  looked  me  over,  and  remarked 
slyly: 

"Your  walk  seems  to  'ave  done  you  good, 
Marjie." 

"It  did,"  was  all  the  reply  I  made. 

When  my  brother  came  to  dinner  I  was 
all  affability — and  sweet  humility. 

"Jack,"  I  remarked,  "Aunt  Dodo  tells 
me  you've  locked  up  my  trunk  in  the  spare 
bedroom." 

"I  have,"  he  responded. 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  wear  this  traveling 
outfit  all  summer,  do  you?" 

"No." 

"Won't  you  let  me  have  a  few  of  my  things 

57 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

— a  skirt  and  a  shirt-waist  and  a  number  of 
handkerchiefs,  at  least?" 

"  You  can  have  anything  and  everything,  if 
you'll  promise  me  what  I  ask,  Marjory." 
"But  I  don't  want  to — yet,  Jack." 
He  eyed  me  keenly.    Then  he  said : 
"I  guess  you're  coming  around  all  right, 
little  girl.    Aunt  Dodo,  take  the  key  and  get 
her  what  she  desires." 

The  result  of  my  diplomacy  was  that  an 
hour  later  I  had  on  a  clean  and  cool  shirt- 
waist and  skirt,  and  had  my  traveling-bag 
packed  with  all  that  was  absolutely  needful  for 
my  flight;  and  had  secreted  it  in  the  wood- 
house  at  the  back  of  the  lot. 

Then  I  contentedly  sat  down  to  read — and 
await  the  coming  of  my  cavalier. 


IV. 


IT  was  half-past  eight,  and  dark — quite 
dark.  The  sky  was  over-clouded ;  adeliciously 
cool,  damp  breeze  was  rustling  the  tender 
green  leaves  of  the  trees ;  lightning  was  flashing 
and  thunder  was  muttering  low  down  upon 
the  western  horizon.  Jack  had  come  home 
from  the  store  and  was  reading  down  in  the 
sitting-room,  where  Aunt  Dodo  was  sewing. 
I  was  up  in  my  room,  all  alone — and  without 
a  light,  waiting  impatiently  for  the  tall  clock 
in  the  hall  to  strike  nine. 

And  I  was  elated,  dejected — glad,  sorrowful, 
Nell  Adams!  Elated  over  the  thought  that 
I  had  outwitted  dear  thick-pated  old  Jack  and 
Aunt  Dodo;  dejected  over  the  thought  that  I 
was  leaving  them — and  everything  most  dear 
to  me,  forever.  Heighho!  I  look  back  upon 
it  now,  and  wonder  how  I  had  the  grit  to  do  it. 

Presently  the  clock  gave  a  premonitory 
whirr  and  rumble;  then  struck  one,  two, 
three — nine  big  lusty  strokes.  I  nervously 
started  to  my  feet,  and  walked  out  into  the 

59 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

hall.  Without  knowledge  on  the  part  of  Jack 
or  Aunt  Dodo,  I  had  hung  my  hat  and  linen 
traveling-wrap  out  on  the  back  porch.  Now 
I  calmly  descended  the  stairs  and  entered  the 
sitting-room. 

"It  looks  like  a  storm  coming  up,"  I  re- 
marked carelessly,  walking  to  a  front  window 
and  peering  out. 

"Uh-huh,"  Jack  grunted,  without  looking 
up  from  his  paper. 

With  assumed  aimlessness  I  strolled  on  to 
the  kitchen  and  out  upon  the  back  porch,  and 
closed  the  door  behind  me.  There  I  hastily 
donned  hat  and  wrap,  and  stepped  out  into 
the  yard.  A  few  big  drops  of  rain  began  to 
patter  down. 

Just  then  I  caught  the  ring  of  the  telephone 
in  the  front  hall,  and  I  paused  to  listen;  and 
immediately  I  heard  Jack's  voice  in  conversa- 
tion— his  tones  loud  and  excited.  Instinc- 
tively surmising  that  the  phone  call  at  that 
unusual  hour  had  to  do  with  my  contemplated 
flight,  I  hastened  across  the  yard  and  into  the 
black  depths  of  the  wood-house,  hurriedly 
caught  up  my  traveling-bag  and  slipped  out 
into  the  blacker  alley  beyond. 

60 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Suddenly  the  kitchen  door  flew  open  and  a 
stream  of  light  shot  out  into  the  darkness.  I 
smiled  and  gleefully  shrugged  my  shoulders 
as  I  silently  made  my  way  along  the  narrow 
alley-way. 

"Marjory!     Oh,  Marjory'!" 

It  was  Jack  calling.    I  hustled  on. 

"Marjory!    Marjory  Dawes!" 

By  this  time  I  was  out  of  the  alley,  upon  a 
cross  street,  and  hastening  toward  the  main 
thoroughfare  and  the  fork  of  the  road  a  hun- 
dred yards  away. 

"Marjory!    Oh,  Marjory — please  answer!" 

Jack's  pleading  call, — so  faint,  so  far-away, 
so  sad! — almost  shook  my  resolution,  Sweet 
Nell.  I  wanted  to  answer  him;  I  wanted  to  go 
back.  Oh,  I  did — I  did !  But  I  set  my  teeth 
and  held  on  my  way.  For  some  reason  I 
felt — I  knew  that  haste  was  now  necessary, 
that  someone  had  warned  Jack  of  my  con- 
templated flight,  and  that  he  would  follow 
me. 

The  storm  was  swiftly  approaching.  The 
whole  western  sky  was  of  inky  blackness.  The 
lightning  flashed  almost  incessantly;  the 
thunder  boomed  nearer  and  nearer. 

61 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

And  where  was  the  conveyance  that  was  to 
bear  me  to  larger  life  and  liberty?  I  paused 
and  peered  ahead — anxiously,  fearfully.  Ah, 
there  it  was!  A  darker  smudge  upon  the 
somber  surface  of  the  highway! 

Again  I  pushed  onward,  swiftly,  breathlessly. 
A  vivid  streak  of  lightning  blinded  me,  con- 
fused me;  and  a  ripping  peal  of  thunder 
nearly  deafened  me.  I  could  not  restrain  a 
little  scream  of  affright.  The  rain  began  to 
pour  down  in  streams  and  sheets.  I  trembled, 
stumbled,  staggered — nearly  fell.  Then  a  pair 
of  strong  arms  were  thrown  around  me  and  I 
was  lifted  gently  but  quickly  into  a  closed 
vehicle. 

"We're  going  to  have  a  romantic  night  for 
it,  Miss  Marjory,"  chuckled  the  Colonel,  as  he 
climbed  in  and  took  a  seat  at  my  side. 

"Yes,"  I  whispered  gaspingly;  and  was 
silent. 

My  companion  tucked  the  waterproofs 
around  me,  caught  up  the  lines  and  spoke 
softly  to  the  horses ;  and  away  we  rolled — out 
of  the  semi-gloom  of  the  little  town  and  into 
the  gloom  impenetrable  of  the  country  beyond. 

The  lightning  continued  to  flash;  the  thun- 

62 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

der  continued  to  rip  and  reverberate;  the  rain 
continued  to  pour.  We  conversed  but  little; 
the  Colonel's  attention  was  devoted  to  the 
team  and  the  darkness  and  difficulties  of  the 
road,  and  mine  was  devoted  to  my  thoughts. 
The  frequent  flashes  of  lightning  showed  us  the 
traveled  track — and  the  muddy  water  running 
in  rivulets.  "  Whew-whew ! "  wailed  the  wind ; 
"  swish-swish ! "  fell  the  rain ;  "  splash-splash ! " 
went  the  horses'  feet. 

Soon  we  began  to  descend  toward  the  Wolf 
creek  valley,  stream  and  bridge — winding  and 
turning,  zigzagging  this  way  and  that;  and 
moving  very  slowly  and  cautiously.  The  hill 
was  slippery;  and  the  heavy  buggy  crowded 
the  horses  sorely.  From  one  side  of  the  road 
to  the  other  they  slid  and  sprawled;  and  I 
held  my  breath  till  my  throat  ached — expect- 
ing any  moment  to  precipitate  an  accident. 
But  the  Colonel,  so  far  as  I  could  judge  in  the 
darkness,  was  cool  and  collected ;  and  I  greatly 
admired  the  manner  in  which  he  managed  the 
team,  bringing  us  safely  out  of  one  threatening 
situation  into  another. 

However,  on  reaching  a  small  flat  half  way 
down  the  precipitous  slope  he  pulled  up  and, 

63 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

feelingly  rubbing  his  arms,  remarked  with  a 
sigh  of  relief: 

"There!  The  worst's  over.  This  is  a  bad 
bit  of  road  on  a  night  like  this,  Miss  Marjory; 
but  it  all  goes  in  the  day's  adventure.  I'll 
laugh  over  our  escapade  when  I'm  so  old  I 
can't  remember  anything  else  to  laugh  about; 
and  you'll  tell  it  to  your  children,  in  the  years 
to  come.  I— 

"Colonel,"  I  interrupted  half  timidly,  "I'm 
— I'm  afraid." 

"Afraid,  my  dear  child?"  he  said  kindly. 
"What  are  you  afraid  of?  Not  of  me,  of 
course — eh?" 

"No — no!"  I  quickly  disclaimed.  "Not  of 
you." 

"Of  the  night  and  the  storm,  then?"  he 
suggested. 

"  Just  a  little,"  I  admitted.  "  But  what  I'm 
most  afraid  of  is  that  we'll  be  followed,  over- 
taken— and  caught!" 

"Ah?"— sharply. 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "we'll  not  be  over- 
taken and  caught;  I've  got  the  best  team  in 
the  town." — Then,  abruptly,  suspiciously:— 

64 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"But  what  makes  you  fear  we'll  be  followed?" 

"They'll  miss  me  at  home,  and  search  for 
me,"  I  explained. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "they  will  of  course. 
But  they'll  hunt  the  town  over  for  you  first; 
and  before  they  get  that  done  and  start  in  pur- 
suit,— if  they're  shrewd  enough  to  associate 
your  absence  with  mine, — we'll  be  in  Stockton, 
and  you'll  be  on  the  night  train  and  gone." 

"But,  Colonel,"  I  objected. 

"Well,  Miss  Marjory?" 

"  Just  as  I  left  the  house  the  telephone  rang, 
and  I  heard  my  brother  talking  in  a  loud  and 
excited  voice.  I'm  sure,  almost,  someone  had 
discovered  our  secret  and  was  warning  Jack." 

The  Colonel  laughed  outright — laughed  ex- 
plosively, heartily,  immoderately.  Irritated 
by  his  unseemly  hilarity,  I  cried: 

"  What  amuses  you  so,  Colonel  Wells?  What 
have  I  said  or  done  to  cause  you  to  laugh  so? 
I  don't  see  anything  to  be  tickled  at  so — I 
don't.  Are  you  laughing  at  me?  Tell  me;  or 
I'll  be  angry  at  you." 

Immediately  he  checked  his  risibility  and 
made  reply,  his  voice  shaking: 

"No — no,  Miss  Marjory!    I'm  not  laughing 

65 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

at  you,  I  assure  you.  But  I  see  I've  got  to 
make  a  confession,  to  set  myself  right  in  your 
estimation;  I've  got  to  reveal  a  secret  I  never 
meant  you  to  know.  The  fact  is  I  was  expect- 
ing you  to  say  just  what  you  did  say — about 
your  brother  and  the  phone  call,  Miss  Marjory." 

"You  were?"  —in  surprise. 

"Yes." 

"Why  were  you?" 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

"Of  course  not," — irritably;   "tell  me." 

"I  arranged  the  whole  thing  myself,  Miss 
Marjory." 

"You — you — what  do  you  mean,  Colonel 
Wells?" 

"  I  mean  I  arranged  with  one  of  the  boys  at 
the  stable,  to  call  your  brother  and  apprise 
him  of  our  elopement — as  soon  as  we  were 
started." 

Nell  Adams,  I  was  so  dumbfounded  that,  for 
the  moment,  I  could  not  utter  a  word.  But 
the  sound  of  my  companion  chuckling  to  him- 
self, like  a  kid  that  has  done  something  it 
considers  smart,  made  me  furious;  and  in- 
stantly I  found  my  tongue. 

"Colonel  Wells!"  I  screamed  in  a  tone  of 

66 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

severity.  "Surely  you  didn't  do  such  a  fool- 
ish, such  an  idiotic,  such  an  insane  thing  as 
that,  did  you?" 

"  I  did,  Miss  Marjory/'  he  answered,  threat- 
ening to  go  into  another  convulsion  of  laughter. 

"Well,  what  on  earth  possessed  you  to  do 
it?"  I  cried  in  rage  and  disgust. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  wheezing  and  chuck- 
ling. "  To  my  way  of  thinking,  an  elopement 
without  an  irate  father  or  brother  or  other 
male  relative  of  the  fair  lady,  in  pursuit, 
would  be  like  playing  Hamlet  with  Hamlet 
left  out.  I  go  in  for  realism — the  real  thing; 
and  when  I  elope  with  a  young  damsel,  I  want 
to  elope" 

I  was  so  angry,  so  disgusted,  so  fearful  and 
miserable  that  I  burst  into  tears. 

"Yes,  and  now  I'll— I'll  be  caught,"  I 
sobbed;  "and — and  taken  back  home — and 
disgraced  forever ! ' ' 

"No,  you  won't,  Miss  Marjie — indeed  you 
won't!"  he  murmured  soothingly.  "There! 
Don't  cry;  and  don't  worry.  I  just  wanted 
to  add  a  little  spice  to  our  adventure;  I  didn't 
think  it  would  worry  you.  But  we'll  not  be 
overtaken;  no  danger." 

67 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Jack'll  be  right  after  us,"  I  pouted — but 
lifting  my  head  and  drying  my  eyes;  "and 
he'll  be  so  close  behind  us  that  he'll  catch  me 
before  I  can  get  on  the  train  at  Stockton. 
Now!" 

"We're  not  going  to  Stockton, "  the  Colonel 
replied  coolly. 

"We're    not?"     -  instantly    concerned.  - 
"Where  are  we  going,  then?" 

"To  Conesville." 

"Why  that's  twice  as  far.  Why  are  we 
going  there?" 

Once  more  the  Colonel  chuckled  -  -  at 
thought  of  what  he  looked  upon  as  his  own 
smartness. 

"Your  brother  has  information  that  we're 
going  to  Stockton;  I  saw  to  that — that  was  a 
part  of  the  message  he  got.  It's  there  he'll 
seek  you — and  waste  time  in  the  search.  In 
the  meantime  I'll  have  you  safe  at  Conesville; 
and  you  can  take  the  early  morning  train  to 
Zanesville.  But  now  we  must  be  moving 
along.  Two  miles  beyond  the  creek  we're 
approaching,  at  Dodd's,  we'll  turn  to  the  left; 
and—" 

"Hark!"  I  interrupted,  catching  his  arm. 

68 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

The  hardest  of  the  storm  had  passed  over; 
but  in  the  distant  southeast  the  lightning  still 
flashed  and  the  thunder  still  boomed  and  re- 
verberated. The  fall  of  the  steady,  heavy 
rain  upon  the  leaves  of  the  trees  above  us  on 
the  hillside  gave  forth  a  deep,  sonorous  mur- 
mur. 

"  What  did  you  hear?  "  inquired  the  Colonel, 
in  a  tense  whisper. 

"I  thought  I  heard  voices,"  I  answered. 
"There!  Listen!" 

"I  hear  them!"  he  muttered  excitedly, 
gleefully.  "  They're  at  the  second  turn  above 
—fully  a  half  mile  away  by  the  road.  There! 
That's  the  sound  of  wheels." 

"Yes,"  I  wailed  weakly,  "and  it's  Jack — 
or  somebody — after  us.  Now  just  see  what 
you've  done,  Colonel  Wells!" 

"Tut— tut!"  he  cried  cheerily.  "Don't 
take  on,  Miss  Marjie;  you  sha'n't  be  over- 
taken, or  disappointed  in  your  endeavor  to 
escape  from  your  brother." — And  he  gave  me 
a  reassuring,  caressing  pat  upon  the  shoulder. 
— "  Here's  where  the  race  begins — and  the  fun 
comes  in!" 

Then  he  chirruped  to  the  team,  shook  the 

69 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

whip,  and  down  the  final  slope  we  went  at  a 
fair  trot,  the  horses  slipping  and  sliding,  the 
buggy  slewing  and  careening.  I  held  my 
breath;  and  held  on  to  the  seat  as  best  I 
could.  At  that  moment,  Nell,  had  I  had  the 
courage  and  strength,  I  would  have  pitched 
my  gay  old  cavalier  out  in  the  mud  and  driven 
off  and  left  him.  Oh,  I  was  provoked! 

On  reaching  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  touched 
the  horses  with  the  whip,  and  we  moved  more 
rapidly.  But  hardly  were  we  under  swift 
headway  when  he  suddenly  pulled  up,  crying 
f  earsomely : 

"Hark!   Listen— listen !" 

A  sullen,  awful,  indescribable  roar — grow- 
ing louder  and  rising  in  pitch,  with  each  pass- 
ing moment — smote  upon  my  ears. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it?  "  I  breathed  in  an  agony  of 
wonder  and  fear. 

"It's  the  water — the  flood  coming!"  the 
Colonel  panted.  "And  we  must  get  through 
the  bridge  and  over  the  bottoms  on  the  other 
side  before  it  reaches  here,  or  we  won't  get 
across  at  all — for  an  hour  or  two,  anyhow." 

"Oh,  do  hurry!"  I  urged.  "We  must  get 
across^  or  Jack  will  catch  us." 

70 


But  my  brave  cavalier  did  not  need  any 
urging,  as  I  soon  realized.  Already  he  was 
applying  the  whip  to  the  mettlesome  horses 
and  guiding  them  with  firm  and  steady  hands. 
Along  the  wet  level  road  we  fairly  flew,  mud 
and  water  flying  in  a  splattering  shower  from 
the  swiftly  revolving  wheels.  And  all  the 
while  that  awful  booming  noise  was  roaring 
nearer  and  ringing  louder. 

The  covered  bridge  was  but  a  few  hundred 
yards  from  the  foot  of  the  hill.  It  rested  upon 
two  stone  abutments,  about  ten  or  twelve  feet 
above  the  ordinary  level  of  the  creek.  The 
roadway,  on  both  sides  of  the  stream,  was 
much  lower  than  the  floor  of  the  bridge;  and 
the  approaches  were  short  and  steep. 

The  oncoming  flood  rapidly  drew  near, 
roaring  louder  and  louder,  until  the  clamor 
and  din  of  it  absorbed  all  other  sounds.  A 
flash  of  lightning  revealed  to  me  the  ap- 
proaching wall  of  water  —  huge,  black  and 
tumbling.  It  was  almost  upon  us;  and  in 
terror  I  shrilled: 

"Drive,  Colonel!    Drive — drive!" 

"We'll  make  it— to  the  bridge!"  he  yelled 
in  my  ear. 

71 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

And  the  next  moment  the  horses  scrambled 
up  the  steep  approach,  and  stood  upon  the 
firm  plank  floor  of  the  primitive  structure- 
trembling  and  pawing  and  snorting;  and  the 
mad  and  tumbling  flood  was  sweeping  three 
or  four  feet  deep  over  the  roadway  we  had 
come. 

I  collapsed  against  the  back  of  the  seat,  too 
weak  and  nervous  and  wretched  to  care  much 
what  my  final  fate  was  to  be.  The  Colonel 
jumped  out  to  soothe  and  control  the  restive 
animals. 

Another  storm  was  following  close  on  the 
heels  of  the  first.  Again  the  lightning  was 
sizzling  and  flashing ;  the  thunder  was  ripping 
and  crashing;  and  the  rain  was  falling  in 
torrents.  On  all  sides  of  our  insecure  retreat, 
the  foul-smelling  flood — black  as  soot  in  the 
darkness,  yellow  as  ochre  in  the  lightning's 
flash — rolled  and  surged  and  boiled.  Great 
logs  and  other  heavy  drift  bumped  against  the 
stone  abutments,  causing  our  crazy  wooden 
shelter  to  quiver  and  shake  dizzily;  and  the 
poor  scared  horses  snorted  and  stamped  their 
protest.  As  for  me,  Sweet  Nell,  I  just  lay 
there  and  shivered  and  sniveled;  my  courage 

72 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF    MARJORY 

was  all  out — and  I  was  all  in.  At  least,  so  I 
thought  at  the  time. 

The  Colonel  came  to  the  vehicle,  set  one 
foot  upon  the  step,  and  thrust  his  head  in  and 
queried  kindly — but  straining  his  voice  to 
make  me  hear: 

"How  are  you,  Miss  Marjory — all  right?" 

"Don't  speak  to  me!"  I  screamed  in  reply 
—endeavoring  to  make  him  hear. 

"Why — why—  he  stammered,  "what's 
the  matter?" 

"What's  the  matter!"  -  caustically.  — 
"  Look  what  you've  got  us  into — here  on  this 
old  tottering  bridge,  in  danger  of  our  lives!" 

He  leaned  farther  into  the  vehicle,  put  his 
face  close  'to  mine  and  bellowed — literally 
bellowed : 

"  Tut — tut,  Miss  Marjie !  Don't  be  alarmed  ; 
we'll  come  out  all  right — we're  in  no  real 
danger.  Besides,  you  mustn't  blame  me; 
I'm  not  the  weather-man.  And  you  chose 
the  night  for  our  elopement." 

"Yes,"  I  screeched  wrathfully;  "and  you 
stopped  back  there  on  the  hillside,  and  talked 
and  laughed  and  palavered  till  this  flood 
caught  us.  And  now  how  are  we  to  get  away?" 

73 


"Oh,  we'll  come  out  all  right!"  he  bawled— 
almost  cracking  his  voice  in  an  effort  to  lift  it 
above  the  general  uproar.  "The  water'll  go 
down  in  an  hour  or  so;  then  we'll  go  on  our 
way  rejoicing.  And  this  is  the  best  part  of 
the  adventure,  I  think — great  fun.  But  say!" 

"Well!"  tartly  enough. 

"  I  can  see  the  twinkle  of  a  light  over  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  we  just  left.  No  doubt  it's  a 
lantern  carried  by  our  pursuers." 

"  They'll  catch  us,  too — as  soon  as  the  water 
goes  down,"  I  predicted  with  fatalistic  posi- 
tiveness. 

"No,  they  won't,"  he  asserted  sturdily. 
"The  water  goes  down  sooner  on  the  far  side 
of  the  stream;  that  is,  I  mean  the  road  is 
higher.  We'll  be  gone  from  the  bridge  before 
our  pursuers  can  get  to  it.  Don't  worry,  now 
— that's  a  good  girlie;  we'll  come  out  with 
flying  colors." 

He  left  me  and  returned  to  the  heads  of 
the  pawing  horses.  Unreasonable,  ungovern- 
able restlessness  and  dread  took  possession  of 
me;  and  I  couldn't  sit  still — I  couldn't  stay 
in  the  buggy.  I  climbed  out,  straightened 
and  stretched  my  cramped  nether  limbs,  and 

74 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

walked  to  the  rear  of  the  vehicle.  There  I 
stood,  looking  afar  across  the  tumbling  waters, 
toward  the  foot  of  the  hill  whence  we  had 
come.  I  could  see  several  lights  bobbing  and 
jiggling  erratically  here  and  there;  and 
caught — or  fancied  I  caught — the  faint  and 
uncertain  sound  of  men  holloing  and  shouting. 

The  second  violent  but  brief  storm  was 
passing,  the  rain  was  lessening;  but  still  the 
lightning  played  and  the  thunder  rumbled  and 
rolled.  All  at  once  I  started  nervously  and 
stepped  aside  from  my  position.  Water  had 
splashed  upon  my  foot.  I  bent  and  peered 
closely  at  the  floor  of  the  bridge;  but  could 
distinguish  nothing.  Then  I  put  down  my 
hand  and  felt  the  rough  planks;  and  let  out  a 
little  cry  of  dismay  and  terror.  Water  was 
bubbling  up  through  the  cracks! 

Nell  Adams  I  was  scared  stiff !  I  thought  I 
saw  my  finish — a  watery  grave,  an  unlovely 
bedraggled  corpse!  For  the  moment  I  stood 
spellbound  with  fear.  Then  I  recovered  the 
use  of  my  limbs  and  voice,  and  darted  toward 
where  I  thought  my  companion  was,  scream- 
ing shrilly: 

"Oh,    Colonel    Wells!     We'll    be    lost- 

75 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

drowned — killed!      The    flood's    coming    up 
through  the  bridge!" 

And  I  went  on  screaming  warnings  and  pre- 
dictions and  prophesies,  at  the  top  of  my 
voice.  I  guess  I  must  have  been  just  a  little 
hysterical,  Nell.  The  Colonel  caught  me  and 
put  an  arm  around  my  waist;  and  held  me 
firmly — but  respectfully. 

"Stop  that  yelling,  Miss  Dawes!"  he  com- 
manded sharply.  "Stop  it,  now — stop  it!" 
I  subsided  limply;  then  he  continued  in  a 
calm,  even  voice: — "Suppose  the  water  is 
coming  up  through  the  floor,  what  of  it? 
The  bridge  is  heavily-timbered  and  anchored 
to  the  abutments;  it  can't  float  away  or 
break  up,  unless  the  flood  gets  much  higher 
than  it  is.  And  the  rain's  practically  over, 
and  the  water  will  be  falling  soon.  Get  back 
into  the  buggy,  now — that's  a  good  girl." 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  I  pouted  perversely. 

"Yes,"  he  said  sternly,  "you  must  do  as  I 
say;  you'll  get  your  feet  wet.  Come  on." 

"But  I  won't  get  back  into  the  buggy, 
Colonel  Wells,"  I  cried. 

"But  you  will,"  he  growled. 

"I  won't,  I  say!" 

76 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"  I  say  you  will! " 

And  what  do  you  think,  Nell  Adams?  The 
impertinent,  stubborn  old  dunce  caught  me  up 
in  his  arms,  carried  me  to  the  vehicle  and 
placed  me  in  it;  and  without  another  word 
calmly  returned  to  the  care  of  the  team.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  the  like !  I  sat  and  pondered 
and  pouted;  and,  provoked  and  frightened 
and  miserable  as  I  was,  came  near  wishing  the 
bridge  would  float  away  with  us — just  to 
spite  the  Colonel. 

Presently,  however,  he  came  to  me  and  said 
humbly,  contritely: 

"Miss  Mar jie,  please  pardon  my  apparent 
rudeness  of  a  few  minutes  ago.  Perhaps  I 
was  a  little  abrupt  in  my  words  and  actions; 
but  I  didn't  mean  to  be,  I  assure  you." 

I  maintained  a  surly  and  stubborn  silence. 

"Miss  Marjory,  do  you  hear  me?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  I  snapped  in  reply. 

"Listen,  then.  The  water's  already  falling 
— as  rapidly  as  it  arose,  almost.  Isn't  that 
good  news — eh?" 

The  dear,  kind-hearted  old  fellow!  How 
hard  he  was  striving  to  regain  my  favor.  A 

77 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

little  ashamed  of  my  pettishness,  I  answered 
as  graciously  as  I  could : 

"Yes,  it  is,  Colonel.  And  what  of  our  pur- 
suers?" 

"I'll  look  and  see,"  he  said  with  alacrity. 

He  walked  to  the  near  end  of  the  bridge, 
and  back. 

"Their  light  has  disappeared,"  he  an- 
nounced. 

"There  was  more  than  one  lantern,"  I 
returned,  "there  were  several;  and  I  thought 
I  heard  people  shouting  and  holloing  a  little 
while  ago." 

"Is  that  so?" —surprised,  and  apparently 
concerned. — "Then  they  must  have  been 
alarmed  over  our  seeming  danger.  But  the 
lights  have  all  disappeared.  What  do  you 
make  of  it,  Miss  Marjory?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it,  Colonel; 
but  I'm  glad  they're  gone.  Perhaps  they've 
abandoned  the  chase." 

He  was  silent  for  some  seconds ;  then  he  said 
thoughtfully : 

"  I  think  I  have  it.  The  iron  bridge  a  mile 
below  here  and  the  highway  crossing  it  are  out 
of  reach  of  all  floods,  are  they  not?" 

78 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

•  "Yes,"  I  replied,  wondering  what  he  had 
in  mind. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  I  think  your  brother 
and  those  with  him  have  gone  back  to  Chester- 
ville  to  take  that  road.  They've  determined 
to  their  own  satisfaction  that  we're  entrapped 
here  on  this  bridge;  and  they  hope,  by  going 
the  roundabout  way,  to  head  us  off — say  at 
the  cross-road  beyond  Dodd's.  But  we'll  fool 
them," — chuckling  gleefully. — "We'll  just  let 
them  wait  at  the  cross-road;  we'll  be  on  our 
way  to  Conesville — and  they  won't  suspect 
what  has  become  of  us.  They'll  wait  for 
hours,  thinking  we're  still  prisoners  here." 

"And  we  maybe,"  I  remarked  pessimistic- 
ally. 

"Not  much!"— determinedly.— "We'll  be 
out  of  this  in  an  hour  from  now,  if  I  have  to 
swim  the  horses." 

Ha  made  his  word  good,  too.  Soon  the  rain 
had  ceased  entirely,  the  clouds  were  scudding 
away  and  the  moon  was  peeping  out.  The 
light  of  the  welcome  luminary  showed  us  that 
the  flood  was  rapidly  receding.  My  compan- 
ion knew  the  road  well;  and  at  last  he  said: 

"I  guess  we'll  risk  it,  Miss  Marjory;  there's 

79 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

no  danger  now.  We  can't  experience  any 
greater  mishap  than  getting  our  feet  wet. 
And  we  ought  to  be  on  our  way;  time  may  be 
precious  to  us  before  we  reach  our  destina- 
tion. What  do  you  say?" 

"Let's  start/'  I  decided  pluckily. 

"That's  the  stuff,  Miss  Marjie!"  the  Colonel 
cried  joyfully.  "You've  got  the  grit;  you'll 
make  your  way  in  the  world.  So  here  goes!" 

Without  serious  danger  or  difficulty  we 
made  our  way  through  the  falling  flood- 
though  the  horses  snorted  and  shied  and 
blundered,  and  I  let  out  a  little  screech  now 
and  then — and  gained  the  foot  of  the  opposite 
hill  in  safety.  The  sky  was  rapidly  clearing; 
the  moon  was  flooding  the  wet  land  with 
silvery  radiance.  Up  the  muddy  slope  we 
laboriously  climbed  and  rolled  away  along 
the  high  ridge.  But  the  highway  was  heavy 
and  our  progress  was  necessarily  slow.  It  was 
after  midnight  when  we  passed  Dodd's  and 
took  the  left-hand  road  leading  to  Conesville. 

I  must  have  dropped  into  a  doze;  for  the 
first  thing  I  realized  I  was  upon  my  knees  in 
the  bottom  of  the  buggy,  with  my  head  hang- 
ing over  the  dashboard. 

80 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY. 

"Whoa!"  yelled  the  Colonel. 

The  tired  horses  came  to  a  sudden  stop. 
I  scrambled  back  upon  the  seat — now  tilted 
at  an  inconvenient  angle. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  I  demanded 
crossly. 

There  was  the  thick  gloom  of  inevitable 
doom  in  my  companion's  voice,  as  he  answered 
crustily : 

"The  front  axle  has  snapped  in  two!" 


81 


V. 


"WELL,  now,  Colonel  Wells,  what  on  earth 
are  you  going  to  do?"  I  cried,  exasperated 
beyond  measure. 

"I'll  be — be  blessed  if  I  know,  Miss  Mar- 
jory!" he  muttered  helplessly,  meekly — let- 
ting the  lines  slip  from  his  nerveless  fingers 
and  wearily  dropping  his  head. 

A  few  moments  we  sat  there  in  sullen  silence, 
watching  the  reeking  horses  shifting  their  posi- 
tions to  ease  themselves  of  the  strain  of  the 
taut  harness.  The  time  seemed  long  to  me; 
and — tired,  sleepy  and  cross — I  whimpered 
fretfully : 

"You're  a  great  cavalier — you  are,  Colonel 
Wells!  You  were  going  to  have  everything 
go  just  right;  and  everything's  gone  just 
wrong  ever  since  we  started.  I'm  sorry  I  came 
with  you — so  I  am;  and  I  wish  I — I— 

Emotion — the  lump  in  my  throat  choked 
my  utterance;  but  my  rash  and  unreasonable 
words  roused  my  companion  to  instant  con- 
cern and  speech. 

82 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Don't  say  you  wish  you  hadn't  come, 
Miss  Marjory,"  he  said  plaintively,  dejectedly; 
"don't  say  you  wish  you  were  back  home.  It 
hurts  me  to  hear  you  talk  that  way,  though 
I  know  you  don't  mean  it.  You  don't  want 
to  go  back  home;  you're  just  nervous  and 
out-of-sorts — that's  what  ails  you.  And  I 
don't  blame  you  for  being  a  little  cross-grained, 
indeed  I  don't.  You've  put  up  with  a  good 
deal  to-night — and  that's  a  fact;  but  I'm  in 
no  wise  to  blame.  Am  I — eh?  " 

"Yes,  you  are,"  I  whined  peevishly. 

"Eh? "  —lifting  his  head  and  actually  smil- 
ing at  me,  which  made  me  furious. 

"Yes,  you  are  to  blame,  Colonel  Wells," 
I  pursued  pitilessly.  "  You  tried  to  act  smart 
by  letting  Jack  know  of  our  —  our  elope- 
ment." 

"But  that  didn't  bring  the  flood,  Miss  Mar- 
jory,"— grinning  broadly,  vacuously. 

"And  you  stopped  on  the  hill  back  there 
beyond  the  bridge,  letting  our  pursuers  nearly 
catch  up  with  us,"  I  continued  relentlessly. 

"But  that  didn't  cause  the  axle  to  break," 
he  chuckled,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  Then, 
earnestly:  "No,  my  dear  little  girl,  you 

83 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

mustn't  blame  me — your  old  gray-haired 
friend — for  the  night's  mishaps.  I'm  doing 
for  you,  Miss  Marjie,  what  I  wouldn't  under- 
take or  consider  for  any  other  bunch  of  fem- 
ininity on  top  of  ground;  and  for  the  simple 
reason  that — old  as  I  am! — I'm  in  love  with 
you.  Now ! " 

"  Colonel  Wells ! "  was  all  I  could  murmur. 
You  could  have  knocked  me  over  with  a 
powder-puff,  Nell  Adams. 

"There!"  he  said  with  infinite  gentleness 
and  kindness.  "  Don't  take  it  to  heart;  I  don't 
expect  you  to  reciprocate.  I'm  an  old  fool; 
but  not  quite  so  big  a  fool  as  to  expect  a 
sweet  young  miss  like  you  to  care  for  a  bat- 
tered old  wreck  like  me.  All  I  ask  is  that  you 
keep  in  mind  that  I'm  doing  my  best  to  serve 
you,  to  help  you  to  your  heart's  desire. "- 
Then,  animatedly,  cheerfully: — "But  pshaw! 
I  must  stop  talking  and  go  to  doing;  we're 
six  miles  from  our  destination — and  with  no 
time  to  fritter  away.  But  this  has  been  a 
night  of  misadventures,  sure.  Oh,  well!  It's 
all  fun  if  only  we  look  at  it  that  way;  and 
let's  so  view  it.  Now,  I  know  there's  a  farm- 
house just  beyond  the  next  turn  of  the  road, 

84 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and  we  must  get  to  it  and  obtain  another 
buggy — or  other  conveyance.  But  I'm  afraid 
I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  walk  that  short  dis- 
tance, Miss  Marjory.  Eh?" 

"All  right,"  I  consented  readily,  desperate 
enough  to  attempt  anything  that  promised 
to  help  us  on  our  way. 

The  Colonel  stiffly  descended  to  the  ground 
and  assisted  me  to  alight;  and  immediately 
we  set  out  for  the  farmhouse  whose  roof 
glinted  in  the  moonlight,  just  over  a  slight 
eminence.  I  took  the  lead  along  the  sloppy 
highway,  holding  my  skirts  high — and  catch- 
ing my  breath  every  few  seconds  as  one  or 
the  other  of  my  oxfords  threatened  to  pull 
off  in  the  sticky  mud.  After  me  came  the  poor 
old  Colonel,  literally  dragging  the  horses  by 
the  bits  and  anxiously  watching  the  wabbling 
buggy  wheel.  And  we  had  a  full  half-mile  of 
it.  Think  of  that,  Sweet  Nell! 

On  reaching  the  tumble-down  old  farm- 
house our  procession  halted.  I  don't  know 
which  would  have  collapsed  first,  had  we  had 
a  few  more  rods  to  go — the  vehicle,  the  team, 
the  Colonel  or  your  humble  servant,  Nell. 
One  thing  I  do  know;  I  thought  myself  com- 

85 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

pletely  gone — entirely  exhausted.  My  shoes 
were  soaked,  my  feet  were  wet,  my  skirts  were 
bedraggled — and  my  ardor  was  dampened. 
I  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  yawned 
and  shivered,  while  my  cavalier — a  depressed 
but  determined  cavalier ! — holloed  and  holloed 
to  arouse  the  inmates  of  the  frowning,  unin- 
viting residence  facing  us. 

Not  a  light  twinkled  about  the  premises; 
not  a  hint  of  life  became  apparent;  not  a 
voice  responded  to  my  companion's  repeated 
hails. 

Once  more  he  bellowed  lustily:  "Hello! 
Hello!  Hello,  I  say!  Hel-lo-o-o!" 

Still  all  was  grim  darkness  and  silence. 
The  Colonel  muttered  something  under  his 
breath ;  then  he  turned  to  me  and  said : 

"Miss  Marjie,  I'll  have  to  go  and  pound 
upon  the  door.  You  look  after  the  horses  a 
moment.  I  don't  think  they'd  try  to  run 
away;  surely  they  haven't  got  snap  enough 
left  in  them  for  that.  But  they  might;  and— 
goodness  knows! — I  don't  want  to  run  any 
risk.  You  watch  them  just  a  minute." 

I  was  too  apathetic,  too  stupid  to  make 
reply;  but  I  did  as  he  requested.  He  sham- 

86 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

bled  to  the  front  entrance  of  the  dismal-look- 
ing dwelling  and  knocked  vigorously  upon  the 
door;  then  again — and  again. 

"  I  don't  believe  there's  anybody  at  home/7 
he  turned  to  me  and  announced — pitiful  hope- 
lessness tincturing  his  tone,  in  spite  of  his 
resolution. 

"There's  got  to  be  somebody  at  home,"  I 
cried;  "we've  got  to  have  a  conveyance. 
Try  again." 

He  did  so;  and  immediately  an  upstairs 
window  flew  open,  and  a  tousled  head  and 
bewhiskered  face  popped  out  into  the  moon- 
light. 

"Hello!"  called  the  Colonel,  taking  a  step 
or  two  backward  and  lifting  his  gaze  aloft. 

"Hello  y'rself !"  was  the  gruff  response. 

Then  something  like  the  following  dialogue 
came  to  my  eager  ears: 

"Good  morning." 

"I  don't  know  whether  it's  mornin'  'r  not; 
I  hain't  looked  at  the  clock." 

I  giggled  the  amusement  I  felt,  in  spite  of 
the  sad  situation  in  which  I  found  myself. 

"  We've  broken  our  buggy— 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

87 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"And  it's  important  that  we  get  on  to 
Conesville  as  soon  as  possible,— 

"  'Tain't  important  to  me." 

"And  we've  stopped  to  see  if  we  can  pro- 
cure another  vehicle." 

"No,  you  can't." 

"Haven't  you  a  buggy?" 

"No." 

"No  carriage  of  any  kind?" 

"No." 

"Nor  an  express  wagon?" 

"No,  I  hain't." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind?" 

"NothinV 

"Not  even  a  cart?'1 

"Nothin'  but  a  big  farm-wagon." 

"Miss  Marjory,"  yelled  the  Colonel,  "can 
you — will  you  ride  in  a  farm-wagon?" 

"I'll  ride  in  anything,"  I  shrilled  in  des- 
peration. 

"You  won't  ride  in  my  wagon,  Miss,"  the 
man  bawled  from  his  place  of  vantage. 

"Why  won't  she?"  the  Colonel  demanded, 
bristling. 

"  'Cause  I  won't  let  you  have  it,"  the  farmer 
returned  coolly. 

88 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"And  why  won't  you?"  the  Colonel  per- 
sisted. 

"  'Cause  I'm  goin'  to  use  it  myself,  soon  as 
it  comes  daylight." 

"But,  my  good  man,"  my  escort  cried 
wheedlingly,  "we'll  pay  you  for  the  use  of  it; 
and—" 

"I  don't  want  y'r  pay,"  -stubbornly; 
"an'  you  can't  have  the  wagon." 

"How  are  we  to  get  to  Cones ville,  then?" 

"Don't  know — an'  don't  care," — pitilessly. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do !"  —menacingly . 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't!"— defiantly. 

And  down  went  the  window! 

"Well,  don't  that  beat  the— the  devil!" 
muttered  the  Colonel ;  and  I  tittered  outright. 
I  couldn't  help  it,  provoked  and  perplexed 
though  I  was. 

The  angry  Colonel  gave  a  martial  jerk  to 
his  square  shoulders,  stalked  up  to  the  door 
and  began  to  kick  it  savagely.  Instantly 
the  upstairs  window  again  flew  open;  and 
again  the  farmer's  frowzy  head  was  in  evi- 
dence. 

"  Here ! "  he  bawled.    "  Stop  that ! " 

"Be  civil,  then,"  growled  the  Colonel.    "If 

89 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

you  don't  I'll  kick  the  door  down  and  kick 
you  out  of  the  house." 

"Well,  what  the  devil  do  you  want?"  the 
man  inquired. 

"Want  a  conveyance  to  carry  us  to  Cones- 
ville." 

"Hain't  got  none  I  can  let  you  have,  I  told 
you." 

"  Well,  have  you  got  any  saddles?  " 

"Yes,  got  two — a  man's  saddle  an'  a 
woman's  saddle.  They're  both  hangin'  in 
the  barn  out  there.  Take  'em;  an'  you  can 
run  y'r  buggy  in  the  shed  at  the  side  of  the 
stable — an'  pile  y'r  harness  in  it.  But,  say!" 

"Well?" 

"Who  are  you,  anyway?" 

"Colonel  Wells  of  Georgia." 

"  Jeeminy!  I  can't  let  you  take  my  saddles 
clear  to  Georgy  with  you,  mister." 

Again  I  teeheed  audibly. 

"Nonsense,  man!"  rasped  the  Colonel. 
"We'll  take  them  to  Conesville — that's  all; 
and  leave  them  at  the  hotel  or  livery  barn, 
with  our  horses.  Then  whoever  comes  here 
for  the  buggy  and  harness  will  return  your 
saddles.  See?" 

90 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Yes.  Well,  you  can  take  'em.  An'  now — 
goodnight;  I'm  goin'  back  to  bed." 

Once  more  the  window  closed,  with  a  crash. 

"An  infernal  chump!"  the  Colonel  muttered 
as  he  came  out  to  me.  "  A  regular  numbskull, 
Miss  Marjory." 

I  seated  myself  upon  a  sodden  bank  at  the 
roadside;  and  my  escort  took  team  and 
vehicle  into  the  barnyard  near  at  hand.  After 
what  seemed  an  interminably  long  time,  he 
returned  with  the  two  horses — stripped  of 
harness  and  bearing  saddles. 

"Now,  Miss  Marjory,"  he  said  briskly,  with 
a  manly  but  painful  attempt  at  cheerfulness," 
"  we'll  be  off  again.  I  just  looked  at  my  watch, 
and  it's  only  two  o'clock;  so  we'll  get  to 
Conesville  in  time  for  you  to  catch  the  early 
morning  train,  if  nothing  else  happens  to 
hinder  us.  And — patience  knows! — I  hope 
nothing  else  will  happen," — grinning  face- 
tiously.— "  For  I've  got  to  confess  that,  much 
as  I  love  adventure,  I've  had  about  enough 
for  one  night.  Stand  upon  the  bank  there, 
and  I'll  assist  you  into  the  saddle." 

"But  I  never  rode  horseback  in  my  life, 
Colonel,"  I  objected. 

91 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"There  must  be  a  first  time  to  all  things, 
Miss  Marjory." 

"I  don't  believe  I  can,  Colonel  Wells." 

"You'll  never  learn  younger,  Miss  Marjie." 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  never  learn  older — never 
learn  at  all — is  what's  bothering  me,"  I  ex- 
plained dully. 

"Well," — impatiently, — "you  must  try,  at 
any  rate.  Let  me  assist  you  to  mount." 

"But  I  tell  you  I'm  afraid,  Colonel;  I've 
never  been  on  a  horse's  back." 

"And  I  tell  you  that  you've  got  to  try- 
that  necessity  cares  nothing  about  previous 
experience,  little  girl.     Here — give  me  your 
foot.    Up  you  go." 

And  up  I  did  go,  Nell  Adams — and  over 
on  the  other  side,  nearly.  I  clung  desperately 
to  the  horse's  mane  and  shivered,  and  plead 
with  my  cruel  cavalier  to  help  me  to  the 
ground — to  let  me  walk  to  Conesville;  but  he 
was  inexorable. 

"Keep  your  seat,"  he  cried  gaily;  "it's  all 
you  have  to  do.  I'll  lead  the  horse  by  the 
rein.  Now!  Off  we  go." 

Nell,  I  was  in  mortal  dread  of  losing  my 
life  then  and  there.  I  must  have  cut  a  figure ; 

92 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and  I've  never  been  able  to  understand  how 
the  old  Colonel  kept  his  face  straight.  I  clung 
to  my  rolling,  jostling  perch  and  let  out  ex- 
clamations and  screeches  of  fright,  at  regular 
and  frequent  intervals.  It  was  like  riding  an 
earthquake.  I  was  seasick — soul-sick.  I 
was  sure  I  was  going  to  slide  off  on  the  one 
side;  I  was  certain  I  was  going  to  fall  off  on 
the  other.  I  had  no  riding-habit,  of  course; 
and  my  abbreviated  skirts  began  to  work 
upward — far  above  my  shapely  ankles.  I 
made  misdirected,  frantic  and  futile  efforts 
to  put  them  down — to  restore  myself  to  a 
semblance  of  proper  maidenly  modesty;  and 
almost  precipitated  my  precious  anatomy 
to  the  earth.  I  let  out  a  screech  of  extra 
length  and  strength,  and  implored — humbly 
implored  and  beseeched  my  escort  to  rescue 
me  from  my  perilous  position.  And  what  do 
you  think?  Colonel  Wells — the  chivalric 
Southron! — just  laughed  at  me.  But  looking 
back  at  the  spectacle  I  must  have  presented, 
I  can't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  criticise  him 
severely. 

But    soon  I  felt  a  little  less  like  a  ship- 
wrecked sailor  upon  a  teetering  raft,  a  little 

93 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

more  like  a  bold  mariner  upon  the  deck  of 
his  own  staunch  vessel;  and  after  a  mile  or 
two  I  was  rather  happy  and  proud  over  my 
new  experience.  So  I  requested  the  Colonel 
to  give  me  the  reins,  which  he  did;  and  we 
jogged  along  quite  pleasantly,  drowsily  talking 
over  our  misadventures  and  speculating  as  to 
what  had  become  of  our  pursuers. 

Murky  dawn  was  just  coming  as  we  des- 
cended the  long  hill  at  the  foot  of  which  lay 
the  Muskingum  valley — and  Cones ville.  Hun- 
dreds of  birds  were  singing  and  thousands  of 
flowers  were  exhaling  their  moist  fragrance. 

The  Colonel  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
yawned : 

"It  isn't  quite  four  o'clock;  you'll  have 
plenty  of  time  to  get  a  bite  of  something  to 
eat  and  catch  that  five- thirty  train.  As  I 
told  you  we  would,  we've  come  out  all  right 
-triumphant  over  all  difficulties  and  hin- 
drances." 

There  was  elation  in  his  voice  and  manner, 
but — poor  old  fellow! — his  haggard  face  and 
lack-luster  eyes  belied  his  brave  demeanor. 

Just  as  we  had  got  into  the  village  and  were 
moving  up  the  main  street,  toward  the  hotel, 

94 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

a  thick-set  man — with  a  big,  bright  badge  of 
office  shining  upon  the  lapel  of  his  baggy  sack 
coat — waddled  out  from  a  shadowy  doorway 
and  threw  up  his  hand,  motioning  us  to 
stop. 

"Whoa!"  said  the  Colonel,  reining  in — at 
the  same  time  giving  me  a  swift  and  mean- 
ingful glance. 

"Good  mornin',"  was  the  man's  greeting. 

"  Good  morning,"  was  the  Colonel's  response. 

"I'm  the  marshal  o'  this  town,"  the  man 
volunteered — with  pardonable  pomposity. 

"Indeed,"  replied  the  Colonel. 

"An'  'bout  a  half-hour  ago,"  the  marshal 
continued,  "I  got  a  phone  message  from 
Stockton,  to  be  on  the  lookout  fer  a  runaway 
couple — an  elopin'  couple  comin'  from  Ches- 
terville." 

He  searched  our  faces,  keenly,  shrewdly,  to 
note  the  effect  of  his  words.  But  I,  with 
remarkable  self-control,  assumed  an  air  of 
innocent  carelessness;  and  my  companion 
merely  uttered  an  apathetic  "ah?"— and 
yawned  behind  his  hand. 

"What  way  did  you  folks  come  in?"  the 
officer  demanded  sharply. 

95 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"  Horseback/'  the  Colonel  answered  smooth- 
ly; and  I  had  difficulty  in  repressing  a  giggle, 
tired  and  hungry  as  I  was. 

"Of  course/'  the  marshal  snarled;  "any 
fool  could  see  that.  But  what  road  did  you 
come?  Where' d  you  come  from?" 

"We  rode  in  from  just  beyond  Hicksville." 

"Did,  eh?  " —suspiciously. 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  see  anything  of  a  couple  in  a  two- 
horse  buggy,  comin'  this  way?" 

"Yes."  ' 

"Where?" 

"Just  the  other  side  of  Hicksville." 

"Did  you  pass  'em?" 

"W-e-11," — embarrassed  for  the  moment,— 
"no,  we  didn't  pass  them;  they  turned  into 
a  barnyard  and  stopped." 

"You  passed  'em,  then,  didn't  you?" 

"I  suppose  you  may  say  we  did." 

"An'   they  stopped  at  a  farmhouse,  eh?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  see  'em  unhitch— as  if  they  was 
goin'  to  stay  there?" 

"Y-e-s,  they — that  is,  the  man  unhitched." 

"Oh-ho!"— gleefully.— "I    have    it,    then. 

96 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

They've  stopped  there  with  relations  'r  friends, 
an'  they're  goin'  to  have  the  Hicks ville 
preacher  an'  git  married.  It's  all  as  plain  as 
the  nose  on  y'r  face.  I'll  phone  the  word 
right  back  to  the  marshal  at  Stockton.  Maybe 
he  can  git  out  there  in  time  to  put  a  stop  to 
the  thing." 

"Who  are  the  eloping  parties?"  asked  the 
Colonel,  guilelessly,  disinterestedly. 

"I  don't  believe  the  marshal  at  Stockton 
mentioned  any  names;  it  was  him,  you  know, 
phoned  me.  He  jest  said  to  keep  a  lookout 
fer  an  elopin'  couple;  an'  hold  'em — if  I 
ketched  'em — an'  phone  him  right  away. 
Said  he'd  come  up  with  the  girl's  brother  an' 
settle  things.  He  did  say  the  girl  was  young 
an'  purty," — I  blushed,  Nell,  and  turned 
away  my  face ! — "  an'  the  man  was  an  ugly  oP 
codger  with  white  hair  an'  mustache  an' 
goatee;  an'- 

I  tittered;  then  bit  my  lips  and  coughed. 
Abruptly  the  marshal  stopped  speaking  and 
turned  his  eyes  upon  me;  and  from  me  to  the 
Colonel.  Then  he  blurted  out : 

"Say!" 

"What?"     the    Colonel    returned    coolly, 

97 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

though  he  knew  what  was  coming,  I'm 
positive. 

"W'y — w'y,"  the  officer  stammered,  "you 
purty  near  answer  to  that  description." 

"Do  I?" 

"Yes,  sir,  you  do." 

"You  think  I'm  ugly?" 

"Can't  say  that  you're  ugly,  exactly;  but 
you  ain't  a  darn  bit  handsome." — He  chuckled 
asthmatically. — "An'  you've  got  the  white 
hair  an'  all." 

"All  men  of  my  age  have  white  hair,  do 
they  not?" 

"Well,  purty  nigh  all,  I  s'pect,"  the  fellow 
admitted,  evidently  puzzled. 

"And,"  my  escort  continued,  "the  parties 
you  were  to  look  for  were  to  come  in  a  buggy, 
were  they  not?" 

"  Y-e-s,"  the  marshal  mumbled  reflectively, 
"they  was." 

"Well,  we  came  horseback." 

"That's  so." 

"And  I  told  you,  you  remember,  of  a 
couple  stopping  at  the  farmhouse  beyond 
Hicksville." 

" Y — e — s,  I  remember.    Say!" 

98 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Well?" 

"Did  you  notice  whether  that  man  had 
white  hair  an'  so  on?" 

"He  did." 

"Sure?" 

"Sure." 

"An'  was  the  woman  young  an;  purty?" 

"Quite  young — and  very  pretty." 

It  was  in  order  for  me  to  blush  again;  and 
I  did  it — sweetly  and  naturally.  I  couldn't 
help  it;  the  effort  I  was  making  to  keep  from 
laughing  would  have  brought  the  red  to  the 
cheeks  of  a  stage  beauty.  But  I  started  and 
felt  instant  concern,  as  I  heard  the  marshal 
saying: 

"But  you  folks  do  answer  the  description 
mighty  well." 

"Yes,  we  do,"  the  Colonel  replied  placidly, 
again  yawning.  "  But  this  young  lady's  going 
away  on  the  early  up  train,  and  I'm  going  to 
stay  here;  and  we're  not  married — nor  think- 
ing of  getting  married.  So  we  can't  be  the 
elopers  you're  after,  eh?" 

"No,  I  guess  not.    But  what's  y'r  names?" 

"  Our  names?  " 

"That's  what  I  said." 

99 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF    MARJORY 

"I'm  Jack  Dawes  and  this  young  lady  is 
Dorothy  Crewe,"  the  Colonel  lied  glibly. 

I  gasped  with  astonishment — then  let  out 
a  jerky  giggle;  and  coughed  distressingly 
to  hide  the  fact. 

"All  right,"  concluded  the  officer;  "Til 
phone  back  to  Stockton  that  you  folks  has 
just  come  in  from  Hicksville,  an'  that  you 
seen  the  runaway  couple  stop  at  a  farmhouse 
jest  beyond  there.  That's  straight,  is  it?" 

"Perfectly  straight;  that  is,  so  far  as  we 
know." 

The  marshal  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  us; 
and  we  continued  our  way  to  the  village 
hotel.  The  modest  caravansary  had  just 
begun  to  show  signs  of  waking  life.  I  changed 
my  clothes  and  made  my  toilet ;  and  was  again 
presentable — to  say  the  least.  We  had  some 
trouble  in  procuring  breakfast  at  so  unusual  an 
hour,  but  an  extra  dollar  neatly  did  the  trick. 

As  we  were  leaving  the  table  the  Colonel 
consulted  his  watch,  and  said  in  a  cautious 
undertone : 

"  If  fate  will  be  kind  for  a  half-hour,  you'll 
be  on  your  train  and  gone,  Miss  Marjory;  and 
I'll  be  glad— so  glad." 

100 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Glad  to  have  me  gone?"  I  queried,  with 
a  fetching  pout. 

"Now,  Miss  Marjory,"  he  murmured  re- 
proachfully, "you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Yes,  I  do,  Colonel  Wells,"  I  returned, 
smiling  my  sweetest;  "and  you've  been  very 
kind  to  me — very,  very  kind.  But  something 
tells  me  that  dumpy  marshal  will  come  wad- 
dling in  here  pretty  soon,  bent  on  detain- 
ing me." 

"  I  expect  him,"  he  said,  nodding. 

"You,  do?"  I  whispered. 

Again  he  nodded. 

"Why?    Do  you  think  he  suspected  us?" 

"It's  probable.  But  he'll  know  who  we 
are  as  soon  as  he  phones  to  Stockton;  the 
names  I  gave  will  reveal  our  identity  to  your 
brother." 

"Yes!"  I  cried  fault-findingly.  "I  hadn't 
thought  of  that.  And  you're  all  the  time 
getting  us  into  trouble,  Colonel;  you're  as 
bad  as  Leander  of  the  Sunday  supplements. 
What  possessed  you  to  do  such  a  silly  thing? 
I  admit  you  were  cornered  and  compelled 
to  prevaricate;  but  I  can't  see  why  you 
couldn't  tell  an  ordinary  lie — give  our  names 

101 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

as  John  Jones  and  Mary  Smith,  for  instance. 
Why  couldn't  you — why  didn't  you,  Colonel 
Wells?" 

We  had  reached  the  stuffy  little  parlor. 
I  dropped  into  one  of  the  straight-backed, 
plush-upholstered  chairs,  my  chin  quivering 
and  tears  of  vexation  in  my  eyes.  My  com- 
panion took  a  seat  at  one  of  the  open  windows, 
where  he  could  command  a  view  of  the  street. 

"Miss  Marjie,"  he  replied  to  my  outburst, 
"I  just  couldn't — and  so  I  just  didn't.  I 
wanted  to  have  a  little  more  fun  out  of  the 
thing.  Picture  to  yourself "  — and  he  chuckled 
and  hugged  himself  —  "the  rage  of  your 
brother  when  he  got  the  message  from  here, 
that  we  were  masquerading  under  the  names 
of  himself  and  sweetheart.  I  can  hear  him 
cursing  the  stupidity  of  all  marshals  in  general 
—and  the  stupidity  of  the  marshal  of  this 
burg  in  particular." 

And  he  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks. 

"But,  Colonel  Wells!"  I  cried.  "Think 
what  you've  done.  I  might  have  escaped; 
now  I'll  be  held — sure." 

"No,  you  won't," — stoutly. — "I  set  out 
102 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

to  see  you  safely  through  this  thing;  and  I 
will." 

Somewhat  mollified  and  reassured  by  his 
courageous  words  and  bearing,  I  heaved  a 
deep  breath  of  relief.  However,  I  continued: 

"But  what  will  Jack  and  his  friends  say 
to  you,  Colonel — what  will  they  do  to  you— 
when  you  go  back  to  Chesterville?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  back,"  he  smiled. 

"You're  not  going  back?" —surprised. 

"  No.  I'm  going  to  take  the  down  train,  on 
my  way  to  Cincinnati  and  Atlanta.  My 
trunk  will  come  by  hack  to  Stockton,  this 
morning.  I  arranged  everything  yesterday 
afternoon.  No,  Miss  Marjory,"  -softly,  pa- 
thetically,— "I've  no  desire  to  spend  the 
summer  in  Chesterville — with  you  away." 

Nell  Adams,  I  was  touched;  I  couldn't 
say  a  word  in  reply.  But  I  had  scant  time 
for  tender  sentiment,  for  the  Colonel  drew 
my  attention  by  thrusting  his  head  out  of 
the  window  and  hastily  jerking  it  back  in 
again. 

"Miss  Marjie,"  he  whispered  stridently, 
"here  comes  the  marshal.  I've  sent  your 
traveling-bag  to  the  station.  You  slip  up 

103 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF    MARJORY 

the  front  stairs,  down  the  back  stairs  and 
out  of  the  side  door;  and  lose  no  time  in 
reaching  the  depot.  I'll  hold  the  marshal 
here,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  till  your 
train's  gone." 

"Colonel  Wells,"  I  began,  "I  don't  know 
how  to  thank  you;  I — I— 

He  came  up  to  me,  took  both  my  hands 
in  his  and  murmured  thickly : 

"Don't  thank  me,  Miss  Marjie — don't  say 
a  word  of  the  kind.  I've  enjoyed  this  elope- 
ment more  than  any  other  I  ever  took  part 
in,"-— his  eyes  dancing.  "Be  a  good  girl,  and 
take  good  care  of  yourself.  Probably  I  sha'n't 
see  you  again  for  months  or  years,  possibly  I 
sha'n't  ever  see  you  again;  but  I  won't  forget 
you — indeed,  no.  If  I  were  twenty  years 
younger — just  twenty  years,  mind  you,  little 
girl! — I'd  play  this  game  to  the  finish;  I'd 
stake  everything — win  or  lose.  Goodbye, 
little  sweetheart." 

"Goodbye,  Colonel  Wells,"  I  whispered 
sadly. 

Then,  moved  by  some  sudden  impulse,  I 
threw  my  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed 
him;  and  the  next  moment  I  was  flying  up 

104 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

the  stairs — my  heart  a-flutter,  my  cheeks 
a-flame. 

Some  six  months  ago,  Sweet  Nell,  I  met 
my  dear  old  cavalier, — I  will  not  say  now 
where  or  under  what  circumstances;  for  that 
revelation  belongs  to  the  concluding  pages 
of  this  very  bulky  epistle, — and  he  told  me  of 
his  encounter  with  the  marshal,  after  my 
departure.  That  pompous  official  came  in 
the  front  door  of  the  little  tavern  as  I  went 
out  the  side  door;  and  of  the  Colonel  he 
demanded : 

"Where's  that  young  woman?" 

"Miss  Crewe?"  the  Colonel  countered 
suavely. 

"No,  not  Miss  Crewe!"  snorted  the  mar- 
shal. "You  two  thought  you  were  mighty 
smart — thought  you  was  foolin'  me;  but  I 
knowed  you  all  the  time — if  you  did  come  in 
here  horseback.  You  bet  I  did !  Your  name's 
Curly  Wells  an'  her  name's  Marge t  Dawes"; 
— Marget!  Marget!  Just  wait  till  I  meet 
that  man,  Nell  Adams! — "an'  you're  the 
'lopers.  Now,  where  is  she?" 

"She  just  went  up-stairs,"  replied  the 
Colonel. 

105 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"  Well,  you  go  an'  call  'er  down." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  us? " 

"Ain't  goin'  to  do  no  thin'  with  you;  her 
brother  says  he'll  settle  with  you — if  you 
don't  have  sense  enough,  an'  shame  enough, 
to  skip  out  fer  a  healthier  climate.  But  I'm 
goin'  to  hold  her  here  till  her  brother  comes 
after  her.  Go  call  'er  down." 

Colonel  Wells  deliberately  ascended  the 
stairs,  strolled  up  and  down  the  hall,  pottered 
from  one  room  to  another,  and  finally  des- 
cended to  the  parlor  and  announced : 

"She  isn't  in  her  room." 

The  marshal  was  walking  the  floor,  puffing 
with  excitement  and  anxiety. 

"She  ain't?"  he  gasped. 

The  Colonel  soberly  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  where  is  she,  then?" 

Another  negative  shake  of  the  handsome 
white  head. 

"You  don't  know?" 

Once  more  my  Georgia  cavalier  silently 
signalled  a  negative  reply. 

"I'll  bet  she's  broke  fer  the  train!"  the 
marshal  cried;  and  with  the  words  he  lum- 
bered out  of  the  room. 

106 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

The  Colonel  stood  at  the  window  and 
watched  the  pursy  marshal  waddling  rapidly 
toward  the  depot;  and  laughed — and  laughed. 

The  train  was  just  pulling  out.  I  saw  the 
officer  coming,  and  I  went  out  upon  the  rear 
platform  of  the  car  and  waved  him  a  merry 
farewell.  Then  I  returned  to  my  seat — and 
indulged  in  a  good  cry. 


107 


VI. 


The  train  jiggled  and  bumped  along  to- 
ward Zanesville.  Completely  worn  out  by 
the  exciting  experiences  of  the  night  and 
my  own  incongruous  emotions,  I  fell  into  a 
doze;  and  as  I  dozed  I  dreamed — dreamed 
that  the  train  was  wrecked,  that  my  neck 
was  broken  but  that  I  was  alive  and  keenly 
observant,  that  my  traveling-bag  was  burst 
open  and  its  contents  scattered  broadcast 
over  the  ground,  and  that  I  was  undergoing 
a  deal  of  toil  and  trouble  in  a  fruitless  effort 
to  gather  up  and  conceal  my  skirts  and  ho- 
siery and  shoes  soiled  by  the  rain  and  mud 
of  my  rural  journey. 

When  I  awoke,  as  I  did  with  a  start  occa- 
sioned by  a  sudden  stop  of  the  train,  I  found 
myself  crowded  over  against  the  wall  and 
jammed  down  into  a  corner  and  two- thirds 
of  my  seat  occupied  by  a  fat  woman  with  a 
squawling  baby.  My  neck  was  aching  ex- 
crutiatingly ;  and  I  was  in  an  ill-humor,  in- 
deed. And  that  baby  kept  on  crying,  Nell 

108 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

— crying  because  it  was  puny  and  wretched; 
and  the  fat  mother  just  sat  there,  unmoved 
and  immovable,  squashed  down  in  a  half- 
melted  heap,  and  just  let  it  cry.  Oh,  I 
wanted  to  shake  her!  At  last  I  could  stand 
it  no  longer,  and  I  asked  her, — with  the  best 
grace  I  could  assume, — to  let  me  have  the 
little  mite.  Without  murmur  or  protest  she 
handed  it  over  to  me;  and  I  let  it  look  at 
my  watch  and  play  with  my  purse  till  finally 
the  poor  little  thing  closed  its  eyes  and  went 
to  sleep.  I  gave  it  back  to  its  mother;  and 
she  never  thanked  me,  even.  But  I'd  had 
my  reward. 

Then  I  sat  up  straight  and  stiff  and  began 
to  do  some  thinking  about  my  own  affairs. 
No  doubt  the  marshal  at  Conesville,  I  rea- 
soned, had  phoned  Jack  of  my  escape;  and 
no  doubt  my  stubborn  and  unyielding  brother 
had  telegraphed  the  authorities  at  Zanesville 
to  apprehend  and  hold  me — on  my  arrival 
in  that  city.  So,  to  avoid  all  risk  of  capture, 
I  decided  to  get  off  at  Putnam,  a  suburban 
station  on  the  west  side  of  the  river,  and  take 
an  electric  car  into  the  town. 

This   I   did.     It  was  six- thirty;    and   the 

109 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

streets  were  quiet  and  drowsy-looking.  The 
only  other  occupants  of  the  car  beside  my- 
self were  two  or  three  laborers  with  their 
dinner-pails,  a  newsboy  with  a  bundle  of 
papers,  and  a  middle-aged,  angular  and 
sharp-featured  woman  with  an  empty  mar- 
ket-basket upon  her  knees.  At  the  second 
corner,  however,  two  young  women,  each 
bearing  a  bundle  of  books  and  both  chatter- 
ing and  tittering  merrily,  got  aboard  and 
seated  themselves  near  me. 

The  woman  with  the  market-basket  nodded 
to  them  and  smiled  a  mechanical  smile  that 
threatened  to  crack  her  hard  features. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said  in  a  vinegary 
voice. 

"  Good  morning,"  one  of  the  young  women 
replied  amiably. 

"It's  a  nice  morning — after  the  rain,"  the 
older  woman  remarked,  with  a  wry  expres- 
sion of  countenance  indicative  of  disapproval. 

"Very," — with  a  nod  and  a  bright  smile. 

"How's  your  mother  these  days,  Miss 
Grimes?" 

"Quite  well,  thank  you." 

"And  your  father?" 
no 


"He's  well." 

"And  all  the  rest  of  the  family?" 

"All  in  good  health." 

The  younger  woman  smiled  beatifically,  but 
slyly  winked  at  her  companion;  and  the  lat- 
ter grew  red  of  face  and  turned  her  attention 
to  the  window  and  the  scenery  outside. 

The  older  woman  crossed  her  arms  upon 
the  handle  of  her  market-basket,  leaned  for- 
ward and  thus  continued  her  interrogatories: 

"You're  still  going  to  the  business  school, 
are  you,  Miss  Grimes?" 

"Yes." 

"Think  you'd  rather  work  in  an  office  than 
teach  school,  do  you?" 

"I  think  I  would— yes." 

"I  see  by  the  papers  your  sister  Sarah  has 
the  offer  of  a  position  up  at  Columbus." 

"Yes." 

"In  a  real-estate  office,  isn't  it?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"Let's  see — what's  the  name  of  the  firm? 
I  saw  it  in  the  papers,  but  I've  forgot.  What 
is  it?" 

"Durbin  and  Son." 

'That's  it;  I  remember  it  now.  And  their 
in 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

offices  are  in  the  Branson  Building;  I  re- 
member that,  too.  What  kind  of  work  do 
they  want  her  to  do — keep  books?" 

"No;   they  offer  her  a  position  as  amanu- 


ensis." 


"Kind  of  a  private  secretary,  eh?" 
"Something  like  that,  I  guess." 
"It  ought  to  be  a  pleasant  position." 
"Yes." 

"When  does  she  go?" 
"She  was  to  go  to-day." 
"But  she  isn't  going?" 
"No." 

"Put  it  off,  has  she?" 
"She's  not  going  at  all." 
"Not  going  at  all?"  —perfectly  astounded. 
"No." 

"Why  isn't  she?" 

"She  thinks  she's  got  a  better  offer." 
"Oh!" — with  lifted  brows  and  wide  open 
eyes. 
"Yes." 

"Thinks  she's  got  a  better  job,  does  she?" 
"Yes." 

"  Where?  "  —quickly,  incisively. 
"At  Parkersburg." 

112 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Oh!"  -  wonderingly,  almost  incredu- 
lously. 

The  young  woman  nodded — and  surrep- 
titiously nudged  her  companion. 

"In  what  way  does  the  Parkersburg  job 
suit  her  better?"  the  neighborly  inquisitor 
pursued. 

"  Well,"  —  sighing  resignedly,  —  "  the  Co- 
lumbus people  offer  to  give  her  two  weeks 
trial,  and  if  she  proves  satisfactory  agree  to 
give  her  employment  at  forty  dollars  a 
month;  but  the  Parkersburg  people  offer  to 
ta,ke  her  on  trial  for  a  year,  at  the  same 
price." 

"I  see.  And  so  she's  going  to  Parkers- 
burg, is  she?" 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"To-day." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes." 

"  Has  she  written  the  Columbus  people  that 
she's  got  another  place?" 

"W-e-11,  no,  Mrs.  Varley,  she  didn't  write 
them  just  that.  She  sent  them  a  letter  yes- 
terday, saying  she  wasn't  very  well — which 

113 


was  so,  and  guessed  she  couldn't  take  the 
place,  and  they'd  better  look  out  for  some- 
body else." 

"Oh!" — with  a  world  of  obscure  meaning. 

"Yes." 

The  car  had  crossed  the  bridge  spanning 
the  river;  and  was  in  the  heart  of  the  city. 
Now  it  stopped  at  the  corner  of  Third  and 
Main;  and  I  hurriedly  caught  up  my  travel- 
ing-bag and  got  off.  I  looked  at  my  watch 
as  I  reached  the  curb;  the  hands  marked 
six-fifty.  The  Chicago  express  was  due  at 
seven-twenty.  I  could  take  it,  and  change 
at  Newark — for  Columbus;  and  at  once  I 
determined  to  do  so,  and  set  off  at  a  lively 
pace  for  the  depot  two  blocks  away. 

And,  Nell  Adams,  I  was  just  jubilant- 
treading  on  air.  I  had  set  out  from  Ches- 
terville  with  no  definite  destination  in  mind; 
I  had  thought  I  might  go  to  Columbus  —but, 
then,  I  might  go  to  Cleveland  or  Chicago. 
The  fact  is  I  had  meant  to  leave  the  matter 
to  chance,  largely;  and  for  once  chance  had 
been  kind  to  me.  A  situation  was  open  to 
me — beckoning  me,  begging  me  to  come;  and 
I  was  going  to  accept  the  welcome  offer.  I 

114 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

was  Marjory  Dawes — a  poor  little  waif  with 
no  position  in  view! — no  longer;  I  was  Sarah 
Grimes  of  Zanesville,  on  my  way  to  accept 
a  place  with  Durbin  and  Son  of  Columbus, 
real-estate  dealers  in  the  Branson  Building. 
As  Sarah  Grimes  I  had  made  a  rapid  and 
marvelous  recovery  from  my  temporary  in- 
disposition; and  as  Sarah  Grimes — but  the 
sound  of  the  name  set  my  teeth  on  edge,  Nell, 
every  time  I  whispered  it  over  to  myself!— 
I  was  going  to  follow  my  hasty  and  ill-con- 
sidered letter  and  reveal  myself  as  bodily 
proof  that  I  was  able  and  anxious  for  work. 
I  know  you'll  scorn  me,  Sweet  Nell,  and 
condemn  me;  I  scorned  and  condemned  my- 
self— just  a  little.  But  the  unexpected  smile 
of  fortune  was  too  enticing,  too  seductive,  to 
resist;  and  I  yielded — and  didn't  feel  too  bad 
over  my  weakness.  All's  fair  in  love  and 
war,  it's  said;  and  all's  fair  in  modern  com- 
mercialism, also.  I  wasn't  injuring  anyone, 
I  argued.  The  real  Sarah  Grimes  was  de- 
clining one  good  position  to  accept  another; 
I,  the  pretender,  was  simply  taking  the  re- 
jected place.  I'd  do  my  best  for  Durbin  and 
Son — indeed  I  would;  and  no  one  would  be 

115 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

the  wiser  or  sadder.  Where  was  the  harm? 
It  was  thus  I  reasoned,  Nell;  and  I  was  glad 
— glad — GLAD — that  such  fair  fortune  had 
smiled  on  me  in  my  hour  of  need. 

I  reached  the  depot  and  entered  the  dark 
and  dingy  waiting-room;  and  glanced  up  at 
the  clock. 

"Twenty  minutes  to  wait,  if  the  train's  on 
time — which  will  be  a  rarity  beyond  prece- 
dent," I  whispered  to  myself. 

The  room  was  crowded;  the  air  was  close 
and  ill-smelling.  I  hustled  toward  the  ticket- 
window.  Several  people  were  ahead  of  me, 
and  I  elbowed  for  a  place — and  got  it.  But 
just  as  I  was  going  to  call  for  my  ticket  I 
made  the  startling  and  demoralizing  discov- 
ery that  my  purse  was  gone! 

Nell  mine,  I  don't  know  how  I  got  out  of 
the  jam  and  to  the  door;  I  know  I  was  ready 
to  drop  when  I  reached  the  open  air  and 
sank  down  upon  a  truck.  My  purse  was 
gone!  What  was  I  to  do?  I  was  faint,  nau- 
seated and  all  of  a  tremble.  The  bright 
sunlight  dazzled  my  eyes;  the  heat-waves 
threatened  to  suffocate  me.  Apathetically, 
despairingly,  I  sat  there,  thinking  —  think- 

116 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

ing  in  a  circle,  thinking  to  no  purpose. 
Where  had  I  dropped  or  left  my  purse? 
It  had  hung  by  a  chain  to  my  wrist;  and 
it  was  gone  —  with  every  cent  I  had  in 
the  world,  little  enough  at  best.  Had  I 
left  it  on  the  train?  No;  I  remembered 
having  it  on  the  street-car,  when  I  paid 
my  fare.  Had  I  left  it  on  the  street- 
car? It  was  probable,  I  decided.  I  scolded 
myself  for  my  carelessness;  I  found  fault 
with  fate  for  its  unkindness.  Then  I  got 
mad;  and  that  was  the  best  thing  I  could 
have  done.  For  as  soon  as  I  got  angry  I 
got  plucky.  I  gritted  my  teeth,  gave  a  vi- 
cious little  kick  at  my  traveling-bag — and 
declared  under  my  breath  that  I'd  reach 
Columbus  that  day  if  I  had  to  steal  a  ride 
on  a  freight-train. 

But  what  was  I  to  do?  The  question  would 
not  down;  it  insisted  on  presenting  itself.  I 
could  telegraph  Jack  to  come  and  take  me 
home,  of  course.  No,  I  couldn't  do  that, 
even;  I  had  no  money.  Well,  I  could  ap- 
peal to  the  police;  and  they  would  send  him 
word.  Yes,  but  I  wouldn't;  I'd  starve,  suffer 
—and  die,  first!  I  was  going  on  to  Columbus; 

117 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

that  was  settled.  When?  On  the  Chicago 
express  —  the  next  train,  due  in  ten  min- 
utes by  my  watch.  But  my  purse — my 
money?  Well,  I'd  have  to  let  it  go;  I  had 
no  time  to  search  for  it.  But  how  was  I  to 
go  without  a  ticket — without  cash?  Well,  I 
must  go;  and  I  would  go.  And,  Nell  Adams, 
I  did! 

The  train  rolled  in  on  time — to  the  second. 
I  joined  the  crowd;  and  bravely  tripped 
across  the  platform,  climbed  aboard  and  took 
a  seat — near  the  rear  end  of  the  car.  There 
I  sat,  stoically  awaiting  the  outcome  of  my 
rash  venture.  Would  I  be  put  off?  I  sup- 
posed so.  How  could  I  obviate  such  a  mis- 
chance? Heaven  knew;  7  didn't!  The  car 
quickly  filled;  but  no  one  sought  a  seat  with 
me.  The  train  began  to  move,  slowly,  rum- 
blingly.  Once,  moved  by  instinctive  impulse, 
I  half  arose — with  the  undefined  intent  of 
getting  off.  But  I  sank  back,  and  resolutely 
clenched  my  hands  and  set  my  lips;  I'd  see 
the  thing  through.  The  train  gained  in  speed, 
and  flew  away  westward;  and  there  I  was— 
doomed  by  ill-luck  and  my  own  rashness 
to  face  the  tender  mercies  of  a  heartless 

118 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

railroad  conductor.  It  was  a  fearful  situation, 
Nell  Adams;  and  I've  often  wondered  how 
I  braved  it. 

My  grim  ogre  in  blue-and-brass  entered 
the  car  and  commenced  to  take  up  the  fares. 
I  stiffened  myself  for  the  inevitable  ordeal; 
I  meant  to  plead,  to  wheedle,  to  do  my  best 
to  fascinate  and  win  over  that  brusque-look- 
ing, square- jawed  individual  in  uniform — to 
gain  my  way  and  get  free  transportation  to 
Newark.  Then,  like  a  flash  of  inspiration 
from  the  mischief-maker  of  the  universe,  an 
idea  came  to  me — an  idea  unconventional, 
outre,  outlandish ;  and  I  found  myself  gig- 
gling over  the  mere  thought.  Would  the 
scheme  thus  presented  to  me  work?  I  could 
not  determine,  of  course.  Should  I  try  it? 
Why  not?  Failure  wouldn't  make  matters 
worse — that  7  could  see.  But  what  would 
be  the  result  of  the  bold  and  unmaidenly  act 
I  contemplated?  I'd  make  the  experiment 
—and  see! 

Well  up  in  front  sat  a  big  broad-shouldered 
man  wearing  a  light  suit  and  soft  hat.  I 
could  see  his  back  only.  He  had  his  arms 
folded  upon  the  seat  before  him,  and  was 

119 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

talking  to  its  occupants.  His  hat  set  far 
back  upon  his  head  completely  hid  his  fea- 
tures. I  could  not  tell  whether  he  was 
young  or  old,  handsome  or  otherwise;  but 
the  view  of  him  that  chance  saw  fit  to  grant 
me  filled  me  with  a  belief  and  confidence  that 
he  was  elderly,  fatherly — and  would  be  im- 
pressionable to  the  pleas  of  a  charming  young 
woman  in  distress.  And  so  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  carry  out  the  plan  of  procedure 
that  unbidden  had  come  to  me. 

The  conductor  reached  my  side.  I  was 
looking  out  the  window.  He  touched  me 
upon  the  shoulder;  and  I  turned  and  stared 
at  him,  in  assumed  surprise  and  with  mute 
questioning  in  my  eyes. 

"Ticket,"  he  said  gruffly. 

I  turned  from  him  and  again  looked  out 
the  window. 

"Ticket,  ticket,"  he  repeated,  twitching  the 
sleeve  of  my  linen  traveling-wrap. 

Again  I  squared  around  and  stared  at  him 
— this  time  coolly,  insolently. 

"I  want  your  ticket,"  he  muttered;  "give 
me  your  ticket." 

7  have  no  ticket,"  I  replied,  lifting  my 

120 


(t 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

brows  in  apparent  wonderment  that  he  should 
make  such  a  demand. 

"Well,  the  cash,  then,"  he  jerked  out. 
"Where  do  you  want  to  go?" 

"I'm  going  to  Columbus,"  I  returned 
calmly. 

"You  change  at  Newark,"  he  mumbled; 
"and  the  fare's  one-seventy-five." 

"I  change  at  Newark,  do  I?"  I  chirped  in- 
nocently, sweetly,  brushing  back  a  little  lock 
of  frizzly  hair  that  would  persist  in  getting 
in  my  eyes,  and  smiling  most  ravishingly  at 
him. 

"You  do,"  he  answered,  unmoved. 

"Thank  you." — And  once  more  I  turned 
my  attention  to  the  scenery  flitting  past. 

"But  your  fare — give  me  your  fare,"  he 
persisted. 

"My  fare?"  —wondering  greatly,  not  a  lit- 
tle annoyed,  and  somewhat  incensed. 

"Yes,  your  fare." 

"Why  —  why,"  -blushing  demurely,  but 
looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes, — "didn't— 
didn't  my  uncle  pay  my  fare?" 

"Your  uncle?"  —starting  and  sweeping  the 
front  of  the  car  with  his  sharp  gaze. 

121 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Which  one  is  your  uncle?" 

"That  big  man  in  the  soft  black  hat  and 
gray  suit," — pointing  with  white  and  taper 
finger,  and  incidentally  displaying  my  fine 
opal  ring. 

"Him?"— also  pointing. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  he  didn't  pay  your  fare." 

"He  didn't? "  —greatly  surprised. 

"No;  forgot  to,  I  suppose.  I'll  go  back 
to  him.  Beg  your  pardon  for  bothering  you." 

He  deliberately  took  up  the  rest  of  the  fares 
in  the  car.  Then  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the 
big  man  in  the  gray  suit  and  tapped  him  upon 
the  shoulder.  The  man  half  turned  in  his 
seat  and  looked  up  into  the  conductor's  face; 
and,  Nell  mine,  I  nearly  fainted.  My  "uncle" 
was  smooth-faced,  young,  dark  and  hand- 
some! 

I  crouched  lower  in  my  seat,  shivering,  pant- 
ing— but  keenly  observant.  The  conductor 
said  something  in  a  low  tone;  and  I  heard  the 
young  man  blurt  out: 

"What!    The  devil  you  .say!" 

Then  he  slowly  got  upon  his  feet, — my! 

122 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

how  big  and  tall  and  fine-looking  he  was! 
—and  said  in  a  tone  of  tense  restraint: 

"Where  is  she?" 

The  conductor  indicated  me  with  a  nod 
and  a  jerk  of  his  thumb;  and  the  young  man 
—his  square  shoulders  and  jaws  set — gave 
me  a  penetrating  stare.  Instantly  I  was  so 
embarrassed,  so  ashamed,  so  distressed  that 
I  wanted  to  die — right  then  and  there.  But 
the  young  man  caught  the  appealing  look  in 
my  eyes  and  cried  out  cheerily: 

"Hello,  Bonnie!     I  forgot  all  about  you." 

Then,  to  the  conductor:  "See  you  in  a 
moment." 

He  strode  back  to  me,  smiling  broadly, 
good-naturedly,  and,  bending  close  to  me, 
whispered : 

"Where  to— Columbus?" 

"Y-e-s,"  I  managed  to  murmur,  barely 
able  to  articulate  the  monosyllable. 

"You  got  on  at  Zanesville?" 

I  nodded. 

"All  right." 

He  returned  to  the  conductor,  dropped 
some  money  into  the  palm  outstretched  to 
receive  it,  and  said — with  a  heartsome  laugh: 

123 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"I  forgot  all  about  her  writing  me  that 
she  was  going  to  join  me  at  Zanesville.  She 
ought  to  have  come  to  me  and  let  me  know 
she  was  aboard;  but  she  wanted  to  punish 
me  for  my  forge  tfulness,  I  suppose." 

Again  he  laughed — softly,  easily;  then  he 
turned  and  leisurely  sauntered  back  to  me. 

"Sit  over,"  he  commanded,  as  one  having 
a  right. 

I  was  angered  by  his  arrogant  and  authori- 
tative tone  and  manner,  but  I  made  a  place 
for  him;  and  he  dropped  into  it. 

"Now,  little  girl,"  he  said  in  a  low,  con- 
fidential but  determined  voice,  "what  am  I 
to  infer?  What's  the  meaning  of  it  all?  Are 
you  just  broke  or — or— 

I  was  looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes,  Nell, 
my  anger  rapidly  rising  to  the  danger  point; 
and  he  read  the  warning  in  my  expression,  I 
presume,  for  he  hesitated  and  stopped.  Then, 
uneasily,  he  tried  to  laugh;  and  made  a  mis- 
erable failure  of  it,  and  sat  silent — biting  his 
lips. 

I  took  a  quick  inventory  of  him,  and  de- 
termined to  my  own  satisfaction  the  kind  of 
man  I  had  to  deal  with — the  sort  of  demon 

124 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  had  conjured  up.  As  I  have  said,  he  was 
tall  and  dark  and  handsome.  His  nose  was 
straight  and  large;  his  mouth,  firm  and  wide; 
his  eyes,  gray  and  keen.  He  was  a  big,  virile, 
forceful  fellow — with  a  good  opinion  of  him- 
self and  with  a  will  of  his  own,  but  with  a 
saving  grace  of  humor.  I  read  him  as  sensi- 
ble but  not  sensitive;  sensuous  but  not  sen- 
sual. 

He  grew  more  and  more  uneasy  under  my 
close  scrutiny;  but  at  last  he  smiled  good- 
humoredly  and  remarked: 

"You  appear  to  be  sizing  up  your  ' uncle'." 

"I  am," — smiling  back  at  him. 

"Think  you'll  know  me  the  next  tune  you 
meet  me,  eh — Bonnie?" 

"I  think  I  shall— yes." 

"Well,  now  won't  you  tell  me  why  you 
palmed  me  off  as  your  uncle  and  told  the  con- 
ductor I'd  pay  your  fare?" 

"I  didn't  tell  the  conductor  that." 

"Didn't  tell  him  what?" 

"That  you'd  pay  my  fare.  I  asked  him 
if  you  hadn't  paid  it." 

"Oh!" 

I  nodded. 

125 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Well,  you  told  him  I  was  your  uncle, 
didn't  you?" 

"I — I  guess  I — I  intimated  something  of 
the  kind  to  him.  He  was  pestering  me;  and 
I  wanted  to  be  rid  of  him.  I  had  no  ticket 
and  no  money;  and  didn't  know  what  else 
to  do." 

He  nodded  understandingly. 

" I  see,"  he  said.  "But  why  did  you  select 
me — of  all  the  men  in  the  train?  My  face 
look  good  to  you?" 

I  gazed  at  him  intently,  searchingly;  but 
I  could  not  make  sure  whether  he  was  in 
earnest  or  not. 

"I  didn't  see  your  face,"  I  answered. 

"You  didn't?" 

"No;   I  saw  your  back  only." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  —chuckling. — "  Then  you  just 
picked  me  out  by  chance.  I'm  disappointed; 
I  was  patting  myself  on  the  back — thought 
maybe  you  saw  something  in  my  face  that— 
that  attracted  you."-— Then,  heartily,  ear- 
nestly:—"No,  that  isn't  what  I  mean  ex- 
actly. What  I  wanted  to  say  is  that  I  hoped 
you  saw  something  in  my  face  that  inspired 
your  confidence." 

126 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Your  back  inspired  my  confidence/'  I  ex- 
plained artlessly. 

"What!" 

"It  did." 

"My  back?" 

"Yes.  You  looked  so  big  and  strong,  so 
much  like  a  man,  so — so  good  and  fatherly." 

He  threw  back  his  handsome  head  and 
laughed;  then  looked  at  me — and  laughed 
some  more.  Evidently  I  was  amusing  him; 
evidently  he  was  getting  the  worth  of  his 
money. 

"So  I  looked  elderly,  fatherly,  did  I?"  he 
queried  when  he  could  command  his  voice. 

"Your  back  did — yes." 

"Well,  how  about  my  face?" 

"You  know  your  face  looks  young." 

"Do  I?" 

"Yes,  you  do." 

"How  old  do  you  think  I  am?" 

"You're  angling  for  flattery." 

"No,  I'm  not." 

"About  thirty-nine." 

"What!" 

"Yes." 

"That's  your  guess?" 

127 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"That's  my  calculation.  A  back  view  of 
you  indicates  forty-nine,  a  front  view  indi- 
cates twenty-nine;  so  I  arrived  at  an  aver- 
age— thirty-nine. ' ' 

"Well,  I'm  just  twenty-nine — and  glad  of 
it.  Now,  what's  your  age?" 

"Guess." 

"Forty." 

"You're   kind," — pouting. 

"  You  asked  me  to  guess ;  and  I  never  could 
guess." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  think." 

"Oh!  I  don't  think  you're  forty;  I  just 
guessed  that.  I  think  you're  about  eighteen. 
How  close  am  I?" 

"You're  close — quite  close." 

"I  thought  so." 

He  was  silent  a  moment;  then  he  asked 
abruptly : 

"Are  you  really  without  money?" 

"Yes,  I  am — of  course  I  am,"  I  cried  sharp- 
ly, "or  I  wouldn't  have  done  what  I  did." 

"Of  course,"  he  admitted;  "I  understand 
that — now.  Did  you  lose  your  purse?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

128 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"In  Zanesville." 

"Do  you  live  there?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"In  Columbus,  then?" 

"No." 

"No?     Where?" 

"No  place — at  present." 

"Oh!  You've  set  out  to  make  your  for- 
tune, have  you?" 

I  made  no  reply. 

"Pretty  maiden,  you're  running  away  from 
home." 

"How  do  you  know?" — pertly. 

"I  don't  know;  I  guess — and  I  guess  I'm 
right." 

"Well,  if  you  are?" 

"You're  making  a  great  mistake." 

"7  don't  think  so." 

"Of  course  not;    they  never  do." 

"They— who?" 

"Girls  who  run  away  from  good  homes." 

"You're  a  preacher,  aren't  you?" — sneer- 
ingly. 

"I'm  anything  but  a  preacher — you  ought 
to  be  able  to  see  that;  but  I'm  talking  good 
sense — good  advice." 

129 


"Well,  you  needn't  talk  the  stuff  to  me— 
I  didn't  ask  you  for  it;  and  I  can  take  care 
of  myself.  I'm  very,  very  grateful  for  the 
kindness  you've  shown  me  in  paying  my  fare ; 
but  I  don't  want  you  to  lecture  me.  I  never 
could  bear  a  lecture." 

He  continued  placidly: 

"But  you  admit  that  you're  running  away 
from  home — in  spite  of  the  wishes  of  your 
parents?  " 

"I  have  no  parents." 

"An  orphan — true?" 

"Yes." 

"  That  changes  the  aspect  of  the  case  some- 
what. But  whom  are  you  running  away  from, 
then?" 

"My  brother." 

"And  the  cause?" 

"He's  going  to  get  married." 

"I  see — I  understand," — the  corners  of  his 
mouth  twitching. — "Where  does  he  live?" 

"  I  think  I've  answered  about  enough  ques- 
tions." 

"You  don't  want  to  tell  me  where  your 
brother  lives,  then?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

130 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Nor  your  name,  either,  I  presume." 

"I  won't  tell  you  my  name." 

"Very  well.  Please  forget  that  I  hinted 
the  request.  Still  I  would  like  to  know  your 
name." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?" 

"  I  have  an  interest  in  your  welfare — that's 
all." 

"Have  you,  indeed?"— sarcastically. 

"Haven't  I  shown  it?"  he  retorted  rather 
sharply. 

"Y-e-s,"  I  had  to  admit. 

"And  you're  going  to  Columbus?" 

I  nodded;  and  wished  sincerely  he  would 
talk  of  something  more  interesting  than  my- 
self and  my  affairs — of  himself,  for  instance. 

"What  have  you  in  view — what  do  you 
expect  to  do?" 

"Work  in  an  office." 

"Is  that  so f" 

"Certainly," — severely. — "Why  are  you  so 
surprised?" 

"I'm  not.     Have  you  secured  a  place?" 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"You're  fortunate." 

Then  he  sat  silent  and  thoughtful  for  some 

131 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

time.  At  last  he  remarked,  smiling:  "No 
doubt  you  think  me  rather — rather  inquisi- 
tive." 

"No  doubt  I  do — rather,"  I  smiled  in  re- 
turn. 

"And  you  resent  my  inquisitiveness — con- 
sider it  impertinence?" 

"I've  no  right  to  resent  it;  I've  put  my- 
self under  obligations  to  you — unfortunately." 

"Come — don't  say  that!"  he  muttered, 
with  genuine  feeling.  "I  don't  want  you  to 
feel  that  way  about  it.  I  simply  desire  to  be 
your  friend;  and  you're  making  it  hard  for 
me.  You  refuse  to  tell  me  your  name  or 
where  you  came  from;  and  you  intimate  that 
I'm  making  free — indulging  in  meddlesome 
interference  in  your  affairs.  You're  leading 
me  to  doubt  your  sincerity;  and  I  don't  want 
to  do  that.  Won't  you  answer  me  just  one 
question?" 

"Maybe.     What  is  it?" 

"Whose  office  do  you  take  a  position  in— 
in  Columbus?" 

"I  won't  answer." 

"All  right,"  he  mumbled,  and  bit  his  lips 
and  scowled.  Then,  sourly:  "I'm  rapidly 

132 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF    MARJORY 

coming  to  believe  that  you're — you're  sailing 
under  false  colors;  that  you've  got  money; 
that  you've  been  playing  me  for  a  sucker." 

That  hurt,  Nell  Adams — hurt  like  a  home- 
sick pain.  I  didn't  mind  so  much  what  he 
said  as  what  he  didn't  say — what  he  inti- 
mated. I  knew  well  what  he  meant;  and 
I  was  so  shocked  and  grieved — that  a  per- 
fect stranger,  even,  should  thus  suspect  me. 
In  spite  of  myself  my  lips  began  to  tremble 
and  tears  started  to  my  eyes.  I  was  angry, 
too — angry  that  my  native  resolution  had  de- 
serted me,  that  I  couldn't  conceal  my  emo- 
tion. 

"You're  very  kind,"  I  murmured  chok- 
ingly; "and  you're  welcome  to  your  charit- 
able opinion,  I'm  sure." 

Then  I  turned  my  back  to  him  and  gazed 
out  at  the  flying  landscape,  sick  at  heart. 

Presently  I  heard  him  saying  gruffly — to 
hide  his  feelings,  it  may  have  been: 

"I'm  something  of  a  brute,  I  guess,  my 
girl ;  and  I  do  beg  your  pardon.  I  know  you're 
all  right;  I  know  you  are.  Now,  won't  you 
look  at  me — won't  you  talk  to  me?" 

I  made  no  reply  by  word  or  sign. 

133 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 
"Won't  you?"   he  repeated   softly,   coax- 


Still  I  remained  silent  and  motionless. 

"  Won't  you  —  please?  " 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  I  questioned. 

"Want  you  to  turn  around;  I've  got 
something  to  say  to  you." 

I  turned  and  faced  him. 

"My  dear  young  woman/'  he  said  gravely, 
"don't  you  know  you  did  a  very  foolish 
thing  —  a  very  reckless  thing,  when  you  told 
the  conductor  I  was  your  uncle  and  hinted 
that  I  would  pay  your  fare  —  when  you  put 
yourself  under  obligations  to  me  in  that  way?  " 

"No,  I  don't,"  I  replied  frankly. 

"Well,  your  answer  establishes  your  inno- 
cence —  sure,"—  with  a  deprecating,  pitying 
shake  of  the  head,  —  "your  lack  of  knowledge 
of  the  ways  of  the  big  brutal  world,  at  any 
rate." 

"  It  doesn't  establish  anything  of  the  kind," 
I  cried,  piqued  that  he  should  consider  me  a 
verdant  rural  school-miss.  "I  simply  took 
you  for  a  gentleman;  and  thought  you'd  be 
glad  to  help  me  out  of  an  embarrassing  situa- 
tion." 

134 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF    MARJORY 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  me  now?" — 
coolly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  you." 

"Do  you  still  think  me  a  gentleman?" 

"I  can't  say,"  I  replied  candidly.  "In 
some  ways  you've  shown  that  you  are;  in 
others  you've  indicated  that  you're  not.  I'm 
grateful  for  the  service  you've  rendered  me; 
but  I  wish  you  hadn't  inquired  into  my 
private  affairs." 

"And  you  won't  tell  me  where  you  came 
from?"  -The  persistent  man! 

"No,  I  won't." 

"Nor  tell  me  your  name?"  -The  unex- 
ampled audacity! 

"Indeed  I  won't." 

"Nor  whom  you're  going  to  work  for?" 
The  rude  and  shameless  wretch ! 

"No!  No!  No!"-—  with  warranted  em- 
phasis. 

"Why  won't  you?" 

"Why?"  —in  fine  scorn. — "Because  you've 
no  right  to  inquire;  and  I  sincerely  wish  I'd 
let  the  condutcor  put  me  off  the  train." 

"No,    you    don't," — smiling    provokingly. 

"I  dor 

135 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"You're  mistaken;  you're  rather  enjoying 
holding  me  at  arms'  length,  as  you  are.  But, 
say!" 

I  lifted  my  brows  in  answer. 

"I'll  tell  you  my  name,  if  you'll  tell  me 
yours." 

"I  don't  care  to  know  your  name." — I 
lied  there,  Sweet  Nell — and  I  knew  I  lied;  I 
was  burning  with  curiosity  to  know  his  name- 
to  know  all  about  him. 

"And  I'll  tell  you  where  my  home  is,  if 
you'll  tell  me  where  you  came  from." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  my  business,  if  you'll  tell 
me  whom  you're  going  to  work  for.  There!" 

I  remained  silent. 

"You  won't  do  it?" 

"No,  I  won't,"  I  snapped. 

"  As  you  like.  Now,  let  me  say  just  a  word 
more — and  I'm  through.  You're  going  to 
need  friends  in  Columbus;  I'll  tell  you  why 
in  a  moment.  No,  don't  interrupt  me," 
raising  his  hand  authoritatively. — "I  live  in 
the  city;  I  do  business  there — when  I'm  not 
out  on  the  road.  I'm  going  to  hunt  you  up 
and  look  after  you;  you  shan't  prevent  me. 

136 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Maybe  you  have  friends  or  relatives  there, 
though — eh?" — lifting  his  brows  inquiringly. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  I  answered  coldly.  "And 
now  won't  you  please  take  another  seat?  I 
think  we've  exhausted  the  subject." 

"We're  running  into  Newark,"  he  laughed 
carelessly;  "so  I  shan't  bother  you  much 
longer — and  it  won't  be  necessary  for  me  to 
move  to  another  seat.  While  I  think  of  it 
here's  the  cash-slip  for  your  fare;  the  con- 
ductor objected  to  receipting  farther  than 
Newark,  but  I  fixed  it.  Now,  to  conclude 
briefly  what  I  want  to  say:  you  won't  be 
able  to  hold  a  position  in  any  office  very  long 
at  a  time,  I  fear.  You're  entirely  too  pretty, 
too  fascinating;  and  the  wives  and  sweet- 
hearts of  your  employers  will  get  jealous  of 
you  promptly."-  —Was  he  making  sport  of  me? 
I  couldn't  tell;  there  was  laughter  in  his  eyes, 
but  sincerity  in  his  voice. — "I  mean  what 
I  say," — evidently  reading  my  thoughts.— 
"You'll  need  friends  to  help  you  to  outride 
the  storm  your  own  sex  will  raise  against  you ; 
and—" 

"  Well,  I'll  not  come  to  you  for  a  place  in 
your  office,"  I  interrupted  frigidly. 

137 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"It  wouldn't  be  worth  your  while, "- 
grinning  a  maddening  grin; — "I  wouldn't 
have  you  in  our  office  under  any  circumstances 
—no  indeed.  Why,  my  father — sixty  years 
old  and  a  widower — is  one  of  the  most  impres- 
sionable men;  he  incontinently  falls  in  love 
with  every  pretty  face  he  sees.  I've  had  to 
discharge  three  girls  in  the  last  year,  on 
account  of  his  frailty.  But  I've  fixed  him 
at  last," — laughing  immoderately; — "a  week 
or  so  ago  I  engaged  a  girl  as  homely  as 
Medusa.  If  the  old  man  falls  in  love  with 
her,  I'm  going  to  punish  him  by  making  him 
marry  her;  I  can't  be  devoting  half  my  time 
to  hunting  new  girls." 

Then,  rising  and  standing  with  a  hand  on 
the  back  of  the  seat  and  bending  over  me: 

"Well,  here's  Newark;  arid  here  you  leave 
me.  I've  got  to  run  up  to  Mount  Vernon  and 
look  after  a  little  business.  Sorry  I  can't  go 
on  to  Columbus  with  you.  But  I'll  hunt  you 
up;  I  mean  it.  And  now  I'll  see  you  to  your 
train  waiting  right  over  there.  Come  along; 
give  me  that  grip." 

He  conducted  me  to  my  car  and  saw  me 
safely  aboard.  I  thanked  him  and  offered 

138 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

him  my  hand.  He  grasped  it,  held  it  close 
in  his  own  and  said  soberly: 

"Goodbye.  Don't  think  too  unfavorably 
of  me;  maybe  Pm  not  as  bad  as  you  think. 
Goodbye — till  I  see  you  again." 

Then  he  hurried  through  the  door,  sprang 
down  the  steps  and  ran  back  to  his  own  train. 
I  sat  at  an  open  window  and  silently,  thought- 
fully let  my  gaze  follow  him.  I  saw  him 
climb  aboard  and  disappear;  and  uncon- 
sciously I  heaved  a  little  sigh — of  relief  or 
regret,  I  could  not  say  which. 

Then  his  train  began  to  move;  and  at  the 
same  moment  I  felt  the  premonitory  jerk 
that  apprised  me  that  my  own  was  starting. 
One  last  look  I  cast  in  his  direction.  He  had 
reappeared  at  a  window  and  was  waving  his 
hand  at  me.  I  hesitated  a  moment,  Nell — 
yes,  indeed,  I  did! — then,  with  my  handker- 
chief, fluttered  him  a  reply, 


139 


VII. 

AT  TEN  o'clock  I  was  in  the  Union  depot  at 
Columbus.  I  followed  the  crowd  out  upon 
High  street,  and  asked  a  policeman  to  direct 
me  to  the  Branson  building. 

"About  six  blocks  south,"  he  said,  "right 
hand  of  the  street,  half  way  to  the  Capitol." 

I  was  infinitely  relieved  that  the  distance 
was  no  greater;  for,  as  I  had  no  money,  I  must 
walk  and  carry  my  traveling-bag.  I  set  off 
briskly,  gaily;  and  in  due  time  I  reached 
the  frowning  front  of  the  building  I  sought 
and  entered  the  arched  and  ornamented 
portal.  "  Durbin  and  Son,  real-estate,"  I  said 
to  the  elevator  boy,  as  I  stepped  into  the  cage. 

He  gave  no  sign  that  he  heard  me ;  but,  on 
reaching  the  eleventh  floor,  he  stopped  the 
car,  slid  back  the  door  and  motioned  me  to 
step  out. 

"Thousand-and-one,"  he  mumbled  as  I 
brushed  past  him. 

And  right  in  front  of  me  I  saw  the  number 
and  the  firm  name  upon  the  frosted  glass  of  a 

140 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

door.  Tremulously  but  resolutely  I  turned 
the  knob  and  crossed  the  threshold — to  meet 
my  fate;  and  found  myself  in  a  large  carpeted 
room  with  desks  and  chairs  ranged  about  the 
floor  and  maps  and  plats  upon  the  walls. 
Three  or  four  men  were  bending  industriously 
over  big,  open  canvas-bound  ledgers ;  and  an 
equal  number  of  women — of  middle  age  and 
rather  unprepossessing,  I  noted  promptly, 
Nell!  —  were  playing  monotonous  staccato 
music  upon  typewriters. 

I  stopped  just  inside  the  door  and,  with  all 
the  aplomb  I  could  muster,  coolly,  calmly 
surveyed  the  scene.  The  man  at  the  desk 
nearest  me  slowly  arose,  stretched  his  arms 
above  his  head,  yawned,  gave  a  final  glance 
at  the  pages  of  his  ledger  and  then  advanced 
and  remarked — with  a  peculiar  rising  inflec- 
tion: 

"Something  for  you,  Miss?" 

"Is  Mr.  Durbin  in?"  I  asked,  my  heart  in 
my  throat. 

"Durbin  senior  or  junior?" —smiling  ser- 
vilely yet  impudently  and  rubbing  his  hands 
together. 

"Either  will  do." 

141 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Durbin  senior  is  in;  Durbin  junior  is  out 
of  town.  What's  the  name,  please?" 

Nell  Adams,  every  pen  ceased  its  scratching, 
every  typewriter  stopped  its  clicking,  and 
every  ear  in  that  room  was  cocked  to  catch 
my  reply.  I  could  see  it — I  couldn't  help 
seeing  it;  and  I  wanted  to  laugh — oh, I  wanted 
to  laugh! 

"Marjor—  '  I  began  thoughtlessly,  in  reply 
to  the  man's  question;  then  blushed,  cleared 
my  throat — and  stood  embarrassed  and  silent, 
like  a  bashful  school-miss. 

"Beg  your  pardon,"  he  murmured,  bending 
toward  me  and  smirking  disagreeably,  "I 
didn't  catch  your  name." 

"Sarah  Grimes,"  I  returned  in  clear  ringing 
tones,  irritated  at  the  man's  manner  and  my 
own  embarrassment. 

And,  Nell — Sweet  Nell,  every  man  turned 
and  frankly  stared  at  me  and  every  woman 
whirled  around  and  openly  and  shamelessly 
rubbered.  Then  they  slyly  smiled  at  one 
another;  and  again  looked  me  over,  search- 
ingly,  critically — and  again  smiled,  and  winked 
and  nodded. 

What  did  their  pantomimic  behavior  mean? 

142 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  stood  wondering  —  and  staring  hard  into 
the  face  of  the  man  who  had  come  forward 
to  learn  my  mission. 

"  You  want  to  see  Mr.  Durbin?  "  he  inquired, 
his  features  twitching. 

I  nodded  stiffly. 

"The  elder  Mr.  Durbin?" 

"Yes,"  I  snapped,  mad  enough  to  stamp 
my  foot  and  scream;  and  one  of  the  unattract- 
ive females  tittered. 

"  Have  a  chair,"  suggested  the  man,  pushing 
one  toward  me. 

I  dropped  into  the  proffered  seat;  and  the 
fellow  shuffled  to  the  rear  of  the  long  room 
and  through  a  door,  and  closed  it  after  him. 

Then  such  actions  on  the  part  of  those 
people,  Nell  Adams!  They  winked  and 
leered  and  giggled;  and  made  sly  remarks — 
loud  enough  for  me  to  hear. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  old  boy?"  said  one 
man  to  another.  "Hey?" 

The  "old  boy"  chuckled,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"You  were  right,"  he  said.  "And  now  the 
orchestra  '11  commence  to  play." 

"Uh-huh/"    laughed    a    third.      "Regular 

143 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

slide-trombone  solo  with  bass-drum  accom- 
paniment as  a  feature,  too." 

"Old  Cock-a-doodle  '11  be  right  in  his 
element/'  snickered  the  first. 

"  And  Neddy-boy,  steady-boy,  will  go  right 
up  in  the  air  again," — from  the  second. 

"Say!"— from  the  third. 

"Huh?"— from  both  the  others. 

"Wonder  what  ever  made  him  do  it — hey? 
Neddy-boy,  I  mean.  Don't  he  know  a  good 
thing  when  he  runs  on  to  it?  He  must  have 
strange  notions  of — of — female  unattractive- 
ness,  for  instance,  eh?" 

"Well,  I  should  say!" 

"Isn't  that  the  truth!" 

Then  all  three  laughed. 

The  women  at  the  typewriters  said  nothing 
aloud;  they  just  kept  stealing  glances  at  me 
and  giggling  and  whispering  among  them- 
selves. 

I  began  to  grow  uneasy,  alarmed.  What 
was  the  meaning  of  such  unusual  and  rude 
conduct?  My  advent  had  occasioned  it— 
that  was  patent;  and  my  presence  had  in- 
spired their  remarks.  But  what  was  the 
meaning  of  it  all?  I  couldn't  determine;  and 

144 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  grew  more  and  more  fidgetty  as  the  moments 
passed.  Then  an  awful,  awful  thought  pre- 
sented itself.  Was  it  possible  they  knew  the 
real  bona-fide  Sarah  Grimes — and  knew  I  was 
an  impostor?  Horrors!  I  had  an  arctic  chill 
and  then  went  into  a  torrid  fever — all  in  a 
few  seconds.  Sarah  Grimes!  At  that  mo- 
ment I  sincerely  regretted  that  I  had  ever 
heard  the  name.  Mercy !  What  a  fool  I  had 
been — what  a  fool  I  was!  No  doubt  the 
genuine  sterling-brand  Sarah  had  applied  for 
the  place  in  person;  and  of  course  they  knew 
her.  Oh,  cruel  fate!  Why  hadn't  I  thought 
of  that  possibility  sooner?  What  a  pesky 
fix  I  was  in!  And,  old  chum,  I  was  gravely 
considering  the  advisability  of  ignominious 
flight,  when  the  man  who  had  delegated  him- 
self a  reception  committee  of  one  returned 
to  me  and  said : 

"Mr.  Durbin  will  see  you  in  the  private 
office." 

I  resolutely  pulled  myself  together  and 
arose  to  my  feet.  Then  I  coolly  gave  a  few 
shakes  and  pats  to  my  skirts,  collectedly 
administered  a  few  deft  touches  to  my  hair— 
and  calmly  caught  up  my  traveling-bag  and 

145 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

followed  my  guide,  scornfully  ignoring  the 
glances  that  were  following  me. 

A  half-minute  later  I  stood  in  the  august 
presence  of  the  senior  member  of  the  firm  of 
Durbin  and  Son,  real-estate  dealers.  And 
what  a  surprise — what  a  relief  his  revealed 
personality  was  to  me,  in  a  way,  Nell !  I  had 
expected  to  face  a  grim,  gruff  ogre;  instead, 
I  looked  upon  a  dumpy,  rotund  little  man, 
bald-headed,  bulbous-nosed,  ruddy-cheeked. 
A  narrow  fringe  of  fuzzy,  frizzly  gray  hair 
semi-circled  the  back  of  his  head;  and  two 
little  bunches  of  the  same  texture  and  color  did 
duty  as  side-whiskers.  He  wore  dark  coat 
and  trousers,  white  waistcoat  and  drab  spats. 
Chum  mine,  he  looked  for  all  the  world  like 
Foxy  Grandpa !  His  round  pale-blue  eyes  flew 
open  at  my  entrance — wide,  very  wide;  and 
he  arose  and  bowed. 

"Have  a  chair — have  a  chair,  young  lady," 
was  his  greeting;  and  he  continued  to  bob 
and  smile.  "Perhaps  you'd  better  remove 
your  wrap;  it's  warm — quite  warm  to-day." 

I  followed  his  suggestion. 

"  So  you're  Miss — Miss  Grimes — Miss  Sarah 
Grimes." 

146 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  murmured,  barely  above  a 
whisper. 

"And  you're  here." 

That  fact  was  so  evident  that  I  did  not 
see  fit  to  comment  upon  it;  so  I  kept  silent. 
But  Mr.  Durbin  was  not  satisfied  with  my 
silence;  and  he  repeated : 

"And  you're  here,  I  say." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  In  spite  of  your  letter  saying  you  would 
not  come." 

"I— I  got  better    so   I   thought   I'd— I'd 


come." 


"Of  course;  I  see.  You  made  a  quick 
recovery." 

Again  I  kept  discreetly  silent. 

"I  say  you  made  a  quick  recovery." 

"Y-e-s,"  I  replied. 

What  was  he  aiming  at?  I  wondered — I 
wondered ! 

"My  son  engaged  you  as  our  private 
amanuensis — private  secretary,  I  understand." 

Well,  7  didn't  understand,  Sweet  Nell;  and 
I  was  in  a  fearful  quandary  at  once.  What 
was  I  to  say?  What  was  the  straight  of  the 
matter?  Had  his  son  engaged  me — Miss 

147 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Sarah  Grimes?  I  didn't  know;  and  I  was 
scared  silly. 

"He  did  engage  you,  didn't  he?"— rather 
sharply,  I  fancied. 

"Y-e-s, — yes,  sir," — in  reckless  indecision. 

"When  was  it?" 

Now  I  was  scared  sick! 

"I — I  think  it  was  a  week  or  so  ago/'  I 
murmured  thickly. 

"Ah?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"About  a  week  ago?" 

"Y-e-s." 

"You're  sure?" 

"Why,  yes — that  is — yes,  I  guess  it  was 
just  about  a  week  or  so  ago." 

"Uh-huh!  And  he  told  you  all  about— 
about  me?" 

"All  about  me!"  Heavens!  What  did  he 
mean?  And  what  was  "all  about  me?"  Now  I 
was  scared  insane!  I  didn't  have  sense  enough 
left  to  do  anything  but  swallow  and  blink. 

"Did  he?" 

"Y-e-s,"  I  gulped. 

The  old  gentleman  began  to  quiver  and 
shake  all  over — his  mouth  tight  shut,  his  eyes 

148 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

squinted.  I  just  gazed  and  marveled.  Was 
he  threatened  with  an  epileptic  spasm  or  an 
apoplectic  seizure;  or  was  he  just  struggling 
with  a  desire  to  laugh — or  cry?  I  couldn't 
tell — to  save  me;  and  I  was  duly  worried. 
However,  he  recovered — controlled  his  work- 
ing features  and  went  on : 

"Did  he — Edward,  my  son — talk  with 
you?  " 

Not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  I  nodded— 
ever  so  slightly. 

"Over  the  phone;  or  did  he  call — call  to 
see  you?" 

I  was  recovering  my  equanimity.  I  couldn't 
gather  what  the  old  fellow  was  hinting  at; 
but  I  made  up  my  mind  to  brave  the  thing 
through.  So  I  answered: 

"He  phoned  me  first;  then  called  upon  me 
at  my  home." 

"He  did,  eh?" — gleefully  rubbing  his  hands. 

"Yes,  sir,"— firmly:— "he  did." 

"And — and  he  saw  you?" 

"Why,  of  course." 

I  was  so  completely  mystified  with  his 
strange  questions  and  peculiar  manner,  that 
I  felt  like  flying  from  the  room. 

149 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Was  it  by  daylight  he  saw  you,  or — or 
in  the  dark?" 

"Sir/" 

"Now  —  now!"  —  with  raised  finger  and 
quick  concern. — "Don't  misunderstand  me, 
my  dear  young  woman.  What  I  mean  to  say 
is,  did  he  see  you  by  daylight  or  just  by 
lamplight?" 

"He  saw  me  by  daylight,  sir.  But  why— 
what's  the  difference?" 

"Nothing  much;  nothing  much.  I  was 
just  wondering.  And  you  were  looking  as — 
as  well  then  as  you  do  now,  were  you?" 

"  Sir?    Looking  as  well?    I  was  as  well ;  yes, 


sir." 


"You  were  looking  as  winsome  and  pretty, 
eh?" 

I  could  do  nothing  but  blush  demurely. 

"  And  he  engaged  you,  did  he,  and  told  you 
to  report  here  for  work?  " 

"He  did,"— frigidly. 

"Well,  that  boy  of  mine's  a  precious  fool— 
if  there  ever  was  one." 

Again  he  commenced  to  quake  and  quaver 
— like  an  inverted  mold  of  blanc-mange;  and 
his  ruddy  features  commenced  to  undergo  all 

150 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

sorts  of  antic  twitchings  and  tricksy  spasms. 
I  grew  alarmed  about  him.  Was  he  subject 
to  such  attacks;  and  were  they  of  a  serious 
nature?  Then,  of  a  sudden,  he  sprang  to  his 
feet,  slapped  his  thigh,  and  opened  his  mouth 
and  let  out  a  whoop  of  laughter.  And  I  was 
indignant  as  an  insulted  queen;  and  wanted 
to  fly  at  hun  and  scratch  him.  What  kind 
of  a  place  had  I  got  into,  anyhow?  Were  the 
people  in  that  office  all  crazy;  and  was  the 
head  of  the  firm  the  maddest  of  the  lot?  I 
wanted  to  know! 

Up  and  down  the  room  he  paced,  chuckling, 
chortling,  gurgling — and  exploding. 

"Mr.  Durbin,"  I  cried,  exasperated. 

He  stopped  laughing,  looked  at  me  va- 
cantly; then  began  to  laugh  harder  than 
ever — literally  stamping  the  floor  and  flagel- 
lating his  body  with  his  arms. 

"Mr.  Durbin!" — more  sharply. 

"Miss  Grimes,"  he  answered,  instantly 
sobering  and  returning  to  his  chair. 

"You  insult  me,"  I  said  severely. 

"No — no!"  he  protested.  "I  intend  no 
discourtesy.  You  understand  the  cause  of 
my  merriment,  undoubtedly,  don't  you?" 

151 


"You're  laughing  at  me." 

"No  — indeed,  no!"  — hastily  .—"I'm  not 
laughing  at  you;  I'm  laughing  about  you." 

"What's  the  difference? "—testily. 

"Why,  you  understand  why  I'm  laughing, 
don't  you?" 

"I  do  not." 

"I  thought  you  said  Ned — my  son,  you 
know — told  you  all  about  me." 

"He — he  mentioned  you,"  I  stammered; 
"  I  think  that  was  about  all." 

"  Oh !  Was  that  all?  I  misunderstood  you ; 
and  I  don't  wonder  you  misunderstood  my 
merriment,  I  don't  wonder  you  took  it  amiss. 
I  humbly  apologize,  Miss  Grimes.  And  now 
a  question  or  two,  to  avoid  embarrassing 
explanation.  My  son  said  nothing  to  you 
about  my — my  weakness,  as  he  is  pleased 
to  term  it?" 

I  shook  my  head,  deeply  puzzled. 

"Nothing  about  my  being  overly  impres- 
sionable— overly  susceptible  to  the  charms 
of  the  fair  sex?" 

Nell  Adams!  A  great  light  broke  in  upon 
me!  What  had  I  done — what  had  I  done! 
I  had  recklessly  assumed  the  name  and 

152 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

character  of  Sarah  Grimes  and  had  taken  her 
place  with  Durbin  and  Son;  and  Ned  Durbin, 
the  junior  member  of  the  firm,  was  the  young 
man  I  had  met  on  the  train;  and  the  elder 
Durbin  was  the  impressionable  father  of 
whom  the  son  had  spoken.  I  sat  gazing 
fixedly,  stonily,  at  the  old  gentleman's  rubi- 
cund features;  and  I  felt  myself  falling,  sink- 
ing— down,  down,  down.  As  one  in  a  dream 
I  saw  my  companion  rise  from  his  chair  and 
hasten  to  the  water-filter  in  the  corner  of  the 
room.  On  returning  to  my  side  he  said : 

"Here — have  a  drink,  Miss  Grimes;  you're 
looking  pale  and  sick.  Your  journey  and 
the  heat  have  been  too  much  for  you." 

With  trembling  hand  I  took  the  proffered 
glass  and  drained  it.  Then  I  murmured: 

"Thank  you.    I  turned  suddenly  ill." 

"Feeling  better?"  he  inquired  with  real 
solicitude. 

"Yes,  a  little." 

"You  look  strong.  Isn't  your  health  good 
usually?" 

"Very  good,"  I  hastened  to  say;  "but  I've 
not  been  feeling  well  for  a  few  days.  You 
know  I  mentioned  my  indisposition  in  the 

153 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

letter  I  sent  you." — Then  as  a  quick  after- 
thought:— "I  had  my  sister  write  it  for  me." 

Sweet  Nell  of  old  Oberlin,  I  was  both  sur- 
prised and  delighted  with  the  readiness  and 
celerity  with  which  I  was  learning  to  play  my 
part — was  learning  to  deceive  and  lie.  The 
old  gentleman  replied  to  my  implied  inter- 
rogatory : 

"Yes,  I  got  your  letter  yesterday,  saying 
you  were  sick  and  couldn't  accept  the  place; 
and  it  was  the  first  intimation  I  had  that  Ned 
had  engaged  you  to  come.  You  see  he  left 
the  city  over  a  week  ago,  to  look  after  some 
coal  lands  over  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  state; 
and  I  didn't  know  he  had  you  or  anyone  else 
under  consideration — and  inspection."-  He 
smiled  radiantly,  benignly ;  and  I  kept  repeat- 
ing over  and  over,  under  my  breath :  "  Inspec- 
tion, inspection!  In  the  name  of  common 
sense  what  does  he  mean?"— He  continued: 
"So,  when  I  got  your  letter  I  didn't  know 
hardly  what  to  make  of  it.  But  I'm  awfully 
pleased  that  you  got  able  to  come,  for  we've 
been  having  a  devil  of  a  time  here." — He 
slapped  his  thigh  and  laughed  wheezingly ;  and 
I  straightened  up  and  began  to  pay  more 

154 


attention  to  what  he  was  saying. — "To  make 
the  true  condition  of  affairs  here  plain  to  you, 
I'll  just  say  that  my  son  Edward's  a  very 
peculiar  young  man.  He's  a  big  handsome 
fellow," — our  opinions  coincided,  Nell! — "like 
his  mother's  people  and  not  like  his  sawed-off 
old  dad," — grinning  good-humoredly, — "and 
he  ought  to  be  a  regular  ladies'  man;  but  he's 
anything  but  that.  He's  all  business — that's 
what  he  is;  has  nothing  of  tender  sentiment 
about  him — has  no  taste  nor  admiration  for 
the  fair  sex  at  all.  He  thinks  a  woman  was 
made  to  bake  and  brew — or  to  do  office  work, 
like  any  other  piece  of  machinery;  that's  a 
fact — and  that's  all.  I'm  telling  you  all  this 
so  you'll  know  how  to  take  him.  He  isn't 
much  like  me," — nodding,  smiling — and  wink- 
ing ever  so  slyly, — "  so  we've  had  some  differ- 
ences of  opinion  and  not  a  little  mild  trouble 
about  the  running  of  our  business.  I'd  like, 
for  purely  aesthetic  reasons,  to  have  the  office 
full  of  pretty  young  women — I  enjoy  their 
pleasure  and  society;  but  he  won't  hear  to 
anything  of  the  kind.  He  says  I'm  a  foolish 
old  beau,  that  I'm  all  the4ime  making  love  to 
every  good-looking  girl  I  meet,  that  I  ought 

155 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

to  have  a  guardian  or  be  in  an  imbecile  asylum, 
and  that  my  admiration  for  the  girls  spoils 
them  and  unfits  them  for  business;  and  I 
think  him  a  practical,  materialistic,  unsenti- 
mental wretch," — smiling  sweetly,  blandly. — 
"  So,  to  patch  up  a  sort  of  truce,  to  maintain  a 
kind  of  armed  peace  and  neutrality,  for  the 
last  year  I've  let  him  have  his  way  in  regard 
to  things;  and  I've  tried  to  be  very  circum- 
spect in  my  behavior.  But  Ned's  unreason- 
able. Why,  he's  turned  off  every  comely  girl 
we've  had,  every  young  woman  that  was  good 
to  look  upon,  and  has  installed  three  or  four 
things  with  faces  and  forms  that  would  make 
an  automobile  shy  off  the  highway.  Did  you 
notice  them  as  you  came  in,  Miss  Grimes?" 

"I  believe  I — I  did,"  I  said  hesitatingly. 

"And  what  did  you   think  of   them?" 
bending  eagerly  toward  me. — "Now,  give  me 
your  honest  opinion." 

"Well,  I  hardly  think— think,"  I  stam- 
mered, "they'd  take  first  prize  in  a  beauty 
show." 

"First  prize — in  a  beauty  show!  I  guess 
not!  Why,  it  sets  my  teeth  on  edge  just  to 
look  at  'em.  Now,  I  claim  I'm  a  connoisseur 

156 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

when  it  comes  to  female  beauty;  and  I  admit 
that  I'm  attracted  and  fascinated  by  a  fair 
face  or  lovely  form,  and  at  times  I  may  make 
myself  just  a  little  ridiculous — considering 
my  age — by  bowing  too  frequently  and  too 
profoundly  at  the  shrine  of  some  sweet  divin- 
ity. But  it's  just  the  artistic  temperament, 
the  love  of  the  beautiful  implanted  in  me;  and 
I've  always  been  so.  And  Ned  has  gone  too 
far  in  his  heartless  and  heathenish  iconoclasm 
—too  devilish  far,  Miss  Grimes.  Within  the 
last  year  we've  had  two  or  three  girls  in  the 
private  office  here  that  I  could  look  at  without 
having  an  attack  of  St.  Vitus'  dance;  and  the 
minute  that  degenerate  son  of  mine  found  me 
paying  the  slightest  attention  to  them,  accord- 
ing them  the  slightest  courtesy — like  present- 
ing them  with  a  bunch  of  flowers,  a  box  of 
candy  or  a  bag  of  fruit,  or  offering  them  a 
lunch  ticket  or  theater  ticket — he  has  incon- 
tinently discharged  them.  I  told  him  when 
he  dismissed  the  last  one,  a  month  or  so  ago, 
to  select  one  to  suit  his  own  depraved  taste; 
I'd  got  tired  of  his  fault-finding.  He  said  he'd 
take  me  at  my  word  and  would  find  a  woman 
with  a  face  like  that  of  a  Chinese  idol ;  and 

157 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

that  if  I  fell  in  love  with  her  and  began  to  make 
myself  ridiculous  and  obnoxious,  he'd  appeal 
to  the  courts  to  make  me  marry  her.  And  now 
he's  gone  and  picked  out  you.  Oh,  Lord !  Oh, 
Lord!" 

He  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  rolled  and 
laughed,  and  kicked  his  heels  together  and 
roared. 

"I  can't  understand  it — I  just  can't!"  he 
gasped,  his  face  purple,  tears  rolling  down  his 
cheeks. 

"Can't  understand  what,  Mr.  Durbin?"  I 
questioned. 

"Can't  understand  your  coming,"  he 
panted. 

"Why  can't  you  understand  my  coming?" 
I  asked  artlessly. 

"  Oh !  I  guess  I  can  understand  your  coming 
all  right,"  —  eyeing  me  admiringly;  —  "it's 
Ned's  engaging  you  to  come  that  puzzles  me." 

"Why?" — smiling  ravishingly  at  him. 

"Why!  You  know  why,  Miss  Grimes. 
You're  about  the  prettiest  girl  I've  seen  in 
years," — inclining  his  head  and  smirking  ridic- 
ulously;— "and  how  that  chump  of  a  Ned 
ever  came  to  pick  out  you  as  a  sure  cure  for 

158 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

sentimentality,  after  seeing  you,  is  more  than  I 
can  fathom  or  comprehend.  He  must  have 
thought  you  ugly,  repulsive — of  course.  The 
dolt !  For  if  he  had  a  glimmering  idea  of  how 
blissfully  and  dangerously  attractive  you 
are," — the  old  simpleton,  Nell! — "he  wouldn't 
have  you  in  the  office  for  anything — under 
any  circumstances." 

I  had  the  hardest  work  to  keep  from  saying 
— "  that's  what  he  told  me" ;  but  I  bit  my  lips 
and  kept  quiet.  The  garrulous  old  fellow 
went  on: 

"But  he's  made  his  bed,  and  now  he's  got 
to  lie  in  it;  he's  hired  you — and  here  you  are. 
And  I'm  mighty  glad  you're  here.  The  bar- 
gain between  him  and  me  was  that  he  was 
to  make  his  choice  and  both  of  us  were  to  be 
satisfied — for  a  year,  at  least.  I'm  satisfied — 
and  likely  to  remain  so;  but  I  doubt  if  he'll 
be — very  long.  But,  according  to  the  con- 
tract, he  can't  discharge  you;  I  won't  allow 
him  to — I'll  hold  him  right  to  the  agreement. 
And  won't  he  kick  up  a  shindy — when  he 
begins  to  realize  what  he's  done!  Oh,  my!" 

He  laughed  heartily,  wheezingly,  pounding 
his  knees  and  wriggling. 

159 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Mr.  Durbin,"  I  said  timidly,  regretfully, 
"  I  think  I'd  better  not  stay." 

"Huh?"  he  jerked  out,  sitting  up  very 
straight  and  looking  hard  at  me.  "What?" 

"I  think  Fd  better  not  stay,"  I  repeated. 

"Better  not  stay?  Why,  of  course  you'd 
better  stay;  and  of  course  you  will  stay.  Do 
you  suppose  Fm  going  to  let  you  go — the  only 
really  good-looking  girl  we've  had  in  the  office 
in  a  year?  Not  much!  I  won't  hear  of  your 
leaving — not  at  all.  I  wouldn't  dare  to  let 
you  leave,  at  any  rate — when  my  son  has 
chosen  you  and  sent  you  here.  No,  indeed!" 

And  he  grinned  and  winked  —  openly, 
shamelessly. 

"But  Fm  not  very  well,  you  know,"  I 
weakly  objected,  "and— 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  interrupted 
cheerily;  "and  you'll  be  all  right.  You're 
strong — I  can  see  that;  you're  just  suffering 
from  a  temporary  indisposition.  If  you  don't 
feel  like  going  to  work  to-day,  you  can  wait 
till  to-morrow;  we've  waited  so  long,  we  can 
wait  a  little  longer.  Then,  you'll  want  to 
secure  you  a  room.  There's  a  pleasant  place 
out  on  East  Gay;  I'll  give  you  the  address  and 

160 


THE   MISADVENTURES  OF   MARJORY 

a  recommendation  to  the  landlady,  and  you 
can  run  out  there  on  the  car.  Several  of  our 
girls  have  roomed  there.  You'll  find  a  good 
restaurant  in  the  near  neighborhood,  where 
you  can  take  your  meals  if  you  like.  By  the 
way,  it's  about  lunch  time  now.  Won't  you 
go  out  with  me?" 

"No,  I — I  thank  you,"  I  replied  in  a  half- 
whisper,  my  brows  knit  thoughtfully.  Then, 
with  quick  decision:  "And  I  think  I  won't — 
won't  accept  the  place,  Mr.  Durbin." 

"  Won't  accept  the  place! "  —incredulity  and 
consternation  in  voice  and  expression  of  coun- 
tenance.— "Oh,  come  now!  You  don't  mean 
that.  Say  that  you  don't — please  say  that 
you  don't." 

"But  I  do  mean  it." 

"No,  you  don't — no,  you  don't!  Why, 
what  leads  you  to  say  such  a  thing?" 

"I'm  a — afraid  I'll  make  trouble  between 
you  and  your  son,"  I  faltered. 

"No  danger — not  a  bit — not  the  least," 
he  exclaimed  excitedly.  "Why,  I  tell  you  I 
wouldn't  dare  to  let  you  go,  since  he's  selected 
you  and  had  you  come  on  here;  that  would 
make  trouble." — And  once  more  he  grinned 

161 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and  winked,  slyly,  facetiously. — "And  I  won't 
hear  of  your  going,  for  my  own  sake;  a  maid 
of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever,  to  me.  No — no! 
You  stay;  we'll  have  great  fun — great  times. 
Listen!" — impressively  leaning  toward  me, 
his  finger  upon  his  lips. — "  I'll  be  good — very 
good,  and  very  discreet;  I  won't  be  a  bit 
familiar  or  offensive.  I'll  just  pay  enough 
attention  to  you  to  keep  Ned  in  a  stew,  to 
exasperate  him  to  madness." — He  was  bub- 
bling and  fizzling  with  half-suppressed  merri- 
ment.— "I  want  to  teach  him  a  lesson;  and 
I  want  you  to  help  me  to  do  it.  We'll  have 
great  times — lots  of  fun.  Won't  you  stay— 
won't  you  help  me?  "•  — coaxingly,  wheedlingly. 

"I  don't — don't  know,"  I  murmured  mood- 
ily. "Won't  your  son  discharge  me,  as  he  has 
the  others,  when  he  learns — discovers  that 
I'm — I'm  not — not  unattractive?" 

And  I  blushed  as  prettily  as  I  knew  how, 
Nell  mine;  and  it  would  have  done  your  soul 
good  to  see  the  look  of  worshipful  admiration 
that  dear  old  gay-boy  gave  me ! 

"Discharge  you?" —bristling  valiantly. — 
"I  rather  guess  not;  you  say  you'll  stay — 
and  you'll  stay.  I'm  a  part  of  the  firm;  I'm 

162 


THE   MISADVENTURES  OF   MARJORY 

the  head  and  front  of  it.  I  let  him  run  things 
largely;  but  my  word  goes — when  I  set  my 
foot  down  and  say  it  goes.  He  won't  try  to 
cut  up  any  didoes,  though — seeing  he's  en- 
gaged you  himself;  and  it'll  be  great  sport 
to  see  him  squirm.  Oh!  it'll  be  a  good  lesson 
to  him — just  what  he's  been  needing.  I've 
wanted  him  to  think  about  marrying — 
he's  old  enough;  but  he's  snubbed  me  every 
time  I've  suggested  such  a  thing.  We'll 
teach  him  a  lesson — you  and  I.  Say  you'll 
stay." 

"I've — I've  a  notion  to  stay,"  I  replied, 
irresistibly  attracted  by  the  idea  of  getting 
even  with  Mr.  Edward  Durbin,  for  his  smart- 
ness on  the  train. 

"That's  it;  of  course  you'll  stay." 

"  But  he  may  claim  he — he  never  hired  me 
—never  engaged  me,"  I  suggested  as  the 
possibility  presented  itself  to  me. 

"Huh?"  the  old  chap  ejaculated. 

I  repeated  my  words. 

"Oh,  he  couldn't  make  any  such  ridiculous 
claim  as  that!" — smiling  reassuringly,  con- 
fidently.— "Why,  here's  your  letter  to  prove 
he  engaged  you — and  here  you  are.  No,  you 

163 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

stay — and   have  no   fear.     Ned'll   be  home 
to-morrow,    probably;   and    then  the  fun '11 
begin." 
And,  Nell  Adams,  it  did! 


164 


VIII. 

I  ENTERED  upon  my  duties  with  Durbin  and 
Son,  the  morning  following  my  arrival  in  the 
city.  Mr.  Durbin  greeted  me  smilingly,  effu- 
sively; but  made  no  further  mention  of  the 
subject  of  our  conversation  of  the  day  before. 
However,  he  placed  a  fine  bouquet  of  roses 
upon  my  desk;  and,  from  time  to  time,  as 
we  worked,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me  admir- 
ingly, worshipfully,  and  heaved  a  sigh  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  soles  of  his  patent- 
leathers.  It  was  nice,  Nell — ever  so  nice! 
He  was  so  respectful,  so  reverential.  At  such 
times  a  little  quiver  of  gratification  and 
delight  played  up  and  down  my  spine,  and 
a  little  tinkling  tune  of  bliss  sang  in  my 
soul.  I've  learned  one  thing — if  no  more, 
Nell  Adams.  It's  nice  to  be  admired  .of  men — 
little  matter  who  the  man  is  or  what  he  is 
like,  so  long  as  he  doesn't  become  bothersome. 
Admiration  is  more  satisfactory  than  love  in 
this  respect:  one  can  enjoy  it  without  recip- 
rocating. 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Mr.  Durbin  took  me  out  and  introduced  me 
to  the  men  and  women  in  the  outer  office; 
and  the  men  mumbled  "Miss  Grimes"  and 
shook  my  hand  heartily,  and  the  women 
looked  me  over  and  sized  me  up  and  gave  me 
the  tips  of  their  fingers.  And  then  all  of 
them  opened  up  a  stock-exchange  of  sly 
winks  and  glances  and  gestures;  and  the  pa- 
rade was  over  and  the  wild  girl  from  Chester- 
ville  was  led  back  to  her  cage. 

All  the  forenoon  Mr.  Durbin  and  I  worked 
quietly  and  busily,  seldom  exchanging  remarks 
except  about  the  business  engrossing  our 
attention;  but  as  the  noon  hour  drew  near 
my  employer's  manner  underwent  a  change. 
He  grew  fidgety,  apparently  absent-minded; 
and  frequently  consulted  his  watch.  I  could 
read  him,  Nell;  I  knew  what  was  in  his  mind 
— what  was  coming.  At  last  he  hemmed  and 
hummed,  and  said — haltingly,  lamely: 

"  It's  —  it's  about  my  lunch-time,  Miss 
Grimes;  so  I — I  guess  we'll  stop  right  here 
and  go  out  and  have  something  to  eat." 

"We?"  I  murmured  sweetly  and  demurely, 
lifting  my  brows. 

"Why — why,  yes," — and  he  coughed  and 

168 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF  MARJORY 

squirmed. — "Won't  you  go  along  with  me — • 
won't  you  accept  my  hospitality?" 

I  shook  my  head,  smiling  my  sweetest. 

"You're  hungry,  aren't  you?" — in  kind 
and  genuine  concern. 

"Not  very," — with  the  faintest  accent  on 
the  very. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are!"  —persuasively,  whee- 
dlingly. — "And  you  can't  do  anything  here 
in  my  absence." 

"I  can  rest,  Mr.  Durbin." 

"True,  Miss  Grimes.  But  you'd  better 
come  out  and  have  something  to  eat." 

"Maybe  I  will — after  a  while." 

"But  come  now;  it  will  save  time,  you 
know." 

"Save  time?"  —with  a  hint  of  frigidity  in 
my  voice  and  manner. 

"Well,  that  is — isn't — that  isn't  exactly 
what  I  mean," — stammering  and  getting  red 
in  the  face. — "I — I  mean  simply  that  you 
can't  do  anything  till  I  return,  and  I  can't  do 
—do  much  in  your — your  absence;  and,  then, 
I  think  it  would  be — be  pleasant  for  us  to 
lunch  together,  especially  as  you  re  a  stranger 
in  the  city — hem!  Don't  you,  Miss  Grimes?" 

167 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"I  guess  I'd  better  stay  here,  Mr.  Durbin; 
I'll  write  a  letter,  maybe,  and  be  ready  for 
work  on  your  return." 

He  was  not  satisfied, — I  had  not  expected 
him  to  be,  Nell! — on  the  contrary,  he  was 
sorely  disappointed.  I  could  see  that;  and 
I  giggled  a  little  inward  giggle.  I  was  hav- 
ing great  fun,  Nell  mine! 

"You  can't  stand  it  to  do  office  work  unless 
you  eat  regularly,"  he  argued.  Then,  with  a 
courtly  bow :  "  And  the  bloom  will  fade  from 
your  damask  cheeks  and  the  light  from  your 
lustrous  eyes,  if  you  neglect  your  meals." 

The  old  dunce!  I  got  up  and  went  with 
him.  What  was  the  use  of  wasting  time  and 
breath — when  I  knew  I  meant  to  go  all  the 
time! 

The  outer  office  was  empty  except  for  the 
man  who  had  his  desk  near  the  door.  He 
looked  up,  then  ducked  his  head  and  grinned 
— amusedly,  knowingly. 

As  we  stood  waiting  at  the  elevator  shaft, 
I  remarked  slyly: 

"  We're  not  beginning  our  first  day  together 
very  well,  are  we,  Mr.  Durbin — do  you  think?" 

"I  think  we  are,"  he  chuckled  boyishly, 

168 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

quaking  and  shaking  all  over  and  making  the 
fuzzy  bunches  of  hair  about  his  ears  quiver 
like  thistledown,  "first  rate — just  right." 

"But  your  son  will  be  home  to-day,  you 
say." 

"Probably — this  afternoon." 

"Well,  he'll  object — make  trouble,  won't 
he?" 

"About  what?" 

"About  our  going  out  to  lunch  together." 

"Why,  he  won't  know  anything  about  it," 
— beaming  seraphically. 

"He  won't?" 

"Why,  no.    How  will  he?" 

"The  man  in  the  office,  who  saw  us  come 
out,  will  tell  him." 

"Think  so?" 

"Of  course  he  will." 

"Jones?" 

"I  guess  that's  his  name — yes;  the  man 
at  the  desk  near  the  door." 

"That's  Jones,"  he  nodded,  smiling  broadly. 
Then,  chuckling  asthmatically :  "You  think 
that  he'll  tell  Ned?" 

"To  be  sure." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

169 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"I — I  saw  him  look  at  us — in  a  funny  way." 

"You  did?" 

"Yes." 

"Was  he  grinning?" 

"Yes,  he  was." 

He  laughed,  and  coughed,  and  sputtered. 

"  I  saw  him,  too,"  he  wheezed  huskily;  "  and 
he'll  tell  Ned— I  know  it.  That's  what 
tickles  me;  that's  where  the  fun  comes  in. 
But  you  needn't  be  afraid;  Ned  won't  dare 
to  say  a  word — I've  got  him  this  time!" 

I  didn't  feel  so  much  assurance,  Nell;  but 
I  said  no  more. 

But  we  did  have  a  great  lunch,  old  chum. 
Mr.  Durbin  laid  himself — and  his  money — 
out  to  do  the  handsome,  and  he  succeeded; 
and  I  showed  my  appreciation  by  eating 
heartily  and  by  favoring  him  with  my  most 
fascinating  smiles.  The  old  youngster  was 
in  a  heaven  of  glory  and  delight;  and  his  fat 
round  face  beamed  like  a  stage  moon.  He 
was  so  well  pleased  with  my  gracious  behavior 
and  so  vainglorious  over  our  mild  escapade 
— that  I  could  see  he  considered  quite  a  wild 
adventure,  under  the  circumstances! — that 
he  proposed  rashly  that  we  play  truant 

17Q 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and  go  to  the  matinee,  instead  of  returning 
to  our  work.  I  felt  the  danger,  Nell;  and  I 
had  to  call  him  back  to  a  sense  of  duty.  He 
was  clear  out  on  the  daisy-fringed  border  of 
gentle  dalliance  and  undying  love;  if  he  had 
got  me  to  that  matinee,  I'm  confident  he 
would  have  proposed  to  me  right  off. 

On  our  way  back  to  the  office,  he  began: 

"  Now,  as  we've  broken  the  ice,  as  it  were, 
Miss — Miss — " 

"Grimes,"  I  prompted,  wondering  what 
was  coming. 

"Oh,  I  recall  your  name  well  enough!" 
he  teeheed  gleefully.  "But  I  was  just  think- 
ing whether  I  might — mightn't — might — " 

"Well?"  I  murmured  softly,  snuggling  a 
little  closer  to  his  side.  I  saw  he  was  going  to 
unbosom  and  unburden  himself  in  some  way, 
Nell;  and  I  wanted  to  encourage  him  all  I 
could — for  his  soul's  sake! 

"Why,  the — the  fact  is,"  he  went  on, 
squaring  his  shoulders  and  strutting,  "I  was 
thinking — wondering  whether  I  mightn't— 
mightn't—" 

Again  he  came  to  a  stop,  smiling  an  uncti- 
ous,  inane  smile  at  me. 

171 


"Go  on,"  I  murmured,  my  eyes  downcast. 

"Well," — in  evident  desperation, — "'Miss 
Grimes'1  seems  so  formal,  so — so  distant,  I 
was  wondering  whether  I  mightn't  call  you 
'Sadie.'" 

Nell  Adams!  I  wanted  to  kill  him  right 
there!  "Sadie!"  Did  you  ever!  I  always 
did  despise  that  name.  The  old  dunce! 

"No,  you  may  not!"  I  answered  promptly 
and  firmly. 

"  No?  " — grinning  vacuously. 

"No!" 

"Well,"  he  persisted,  "'Sarah,'  then- 
just  for  the  sake  of  informality ;  I  always  did 
think  'Sarah'  a  sweet  old-fashioned  name." 

"Well, /don't!"  I  said  icily. 

"No?" 

"No,  I  don't!" 

"What  shall  I  call  you,  then?" 

"Mr.  Durbin,  you  can  call  me  'Miss 
Grimes,' " — frigidly. 

"Not  even  'Miss  Sarah'  or  'Miss  Sadie '- 
eh?" 

"No;  'Miss  Grimes'  will  please  me  best, 
Mr.  Durbin — thank  you," — very  frigidly. 

"All  right— all  right,"  he  hastened  to  say. 

172 


"  I  hope  you  haven't  taken  my  little  suggestion 
amiss.  I  only  wanted  to  be  friendly — to 
make  you  feel  more  at  home  in  our  employ, 
in  my  company.  All  right  Miss — Grimes." 

And  I  think  the  old  codger  meant  what  he 
said,  Nell — just  that  and  nothing  more;  or, 
rather,  that  he  thought  he  meant  that.  You 
understand?  But  I  was  mad — vixenish! 
The  old  pest!  "Sadie!"  A  snub-nosed 
kitchen-miss's  name!  "Sarah!"  A  freckle- 
faced  nurse-maid's  cognomen!  Bah!  It  was 
awful!  I  had  a  notion  to  pull  the  old  gay- 
boy's  fuzzy  side  whiskers — I  did,  honestly! 

Well,  that  afternoon  Mr.  Ned  Durbin 
returned  to  the  city.  I  heard  him  when  he 
came  into  the  outer  office — the  communicating 
door  was  ajar;  and  I  recognized  his  voice  at 
once.  And  the  queerest  little  shiver — of 
delightful  dread  and  dreadful  delight! — 
rustled  the  hair  on  the  nape  of  my  neck;  and 
I  braced  myself  and  got  ready  to  face  the 
inevitable.  How  wrould  he  act?  What  would 
he  say?  What  would  he  do? 

I  saw  Mr.  Durbin  cock  an  ear  and  listen. 
Then  he  said: 

"Why,  that's  Ned." 

173 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  just  nodded,  my  heart  fluttering  and  buz- 
zing like  a  humming-bird. 

"Miss  Grimes  is  here/'  I  heard  Jones  say. 

"That  so?"  Mr.  Ned  replied.  "All  right; 
glad  of  it." 

His  footsteps  approached  the  door;  and 
I  felt  all  stuffy — like  he  was  walking  up  and 
down  my  chest.  Then  the  door  swung  open — 
and  he  stood  within  the  room.  I  could  not 
lift  my  eyes  from  the  work  before  me. 

"Hello,  father!"  he  cried  cheerily. 

"Hello,  Ned— my  boy!"  Mr.  Durbin 
returned.  "  Glad  to  see  you  back." 

Then  all  was  silent  as  death.  I  knew  very 
well  what  was  going  on — that  Mr.  Ned  had 
discovered  me,  was  staring  straight  at  me. 
What  would  he  say?  What  would  he  do? 
Oh,  it  was  terrible,  Sweet  Nell!  Yet  I  was 
full  of  laughter,  and  wanted  to  screech 
hysterically.  At  last,  after  what  seemed 
minutes,  I  managed  to  look  up;  and— 

There  he  stood  stiff  as  a  statue,  boring  me 
through  with  his  keen  eyes;  and  his  father 
was  looking  at  him,  in  questioning  wonder. 

"How  do  you  do,"  I  chirped  prettily — a 
little  plaintively,  I  presume, 

174 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Surprise,  incredulity,  anger — were  written 
upon  his  handsome  features. 

"Why — why,"  he  jerked  out,  "what  the 
dev — you — you?  " 

"Why,  you  recognize  Miss  Grimes,  don't 
you,  Ned?"  Mr.  Durbin  interposed,  his  apple 
face  spread  in  an  amused  grin. 

"Miss  Grimes?" — with  a  start. 

"To  be  sure." 

"Oh!" — slowly,  drawlingly,  the  light  of 
a  great  understanding  illuminating  his  dark 
countenance.  "Miss  Grimes,  you're — you're 
here,  I  see." 

"Yes,"  I  murmured. 

Nell,  he  showed  himself  a  thoroughbred. 
He  began  to  smile  and  talk,  apologize  for  not 
recognizing  me  at  once, — think  of  the  absurd- 
ity of  it! — asked  me  when  I  got  in;  and  com- 
pletely bamboozled  his  dear  old  dad.  Then 
he  hung  up  his  hat  in  the  closet  and  with- 
drew to  the  outer  office. 

When  we  were  again  alone,  Mr.  Durbin 
whispered  lispingly: 

"What  do  you  think,  Miss  Grimes?" 

"About  what?"  I  asked  innocently. 

"About  Ned's  not  recognizing  you?" 

175 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"I— I  don't  know,  I— I  guess.  Why?" 
— suspiciously. 

"  7  believe  he  did  recognize  you  all  the  time." 

I  gave  a  guilty  start.  It  was  so  hard  to 
feel  myself  Miss  Sarah  Grimes  and  yet  know 
myself  Miss  Marjory  Dawes.  Did  Mr.  Durbin 
suspect  that  I  was  masquerading? 

"  Y — e — s?"  I  whispered  questioningly,  with 
dry  lips. 

"Yes,"  my  companion  went  on  glibly,  "I 
think  he  recognized  you;  but  I  think  he  just 
came  to  a  realization  of  how — how  pretty 
you  are — and  it  sort  of  upset  him." 

"Think   so?" — tittering,    greatly   relieved. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Perhaps." 

And  I  calmly  resumed  my  work. 

A  half  hour  later  Mr.  Ned  again  came  in, 
and  said  briskly — rather  brusquely :  "  Father, 
I'm  knocked  out;  I  wish  you'd  take  these 
rent  bills  up  to  the  Falstaff  building,  and 
collect.  A  turn  in  the  open  air  will  do  you 
good— eh?" 

"I  s'pose  so,"  Mr.  Durbin  grunted  some- 
what ungraciously. 

It  was  plain  he  did  not  desire  to  go — did 

176 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

not  want  to  leave  his  son  and  me  there  alone, 
for  some  obscure  reason  of  his  own,  I  fancied ; 
but  he  took  his  hat  and  his  departure. 
•  Mr.  Ned  cooly  closed  the  door,  seated  him- 
self and  began  to  look  over  some  legal  papers. 
I  worked  away,  Nell — silently,  rapidly;  but 
I  was  full  of  laugh — in  spite  of  my  fear  and 
trembling.  At  last  he  tossed  the  papers  upon 
the  desk  between  us  and,  leaning  forward 
and  smiling  a  cold  and  nasty  smile,  said 
slowly  and  distinctly: 

"  Now,  my  little  girl,  we'll  thresh  this  thing 
out — right  here,  and  this  minute." 

I  folded  my  hands  in  my  lap — they  were 
cold  as  ice,  Nell! — and  looked  him  full  in  the 
face,  bravely  yet  not  defiantly. 

"What 're  you  doing  here?"   he  pursued. 

"Working,"  -ever  so  innocently  and 
sweetly. 

"  Indeed ! " — angrily. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  don't  get  funny  now;  this  is  no 
funny  matter.  You  are  palming  yourself  off 
for  Miss  Grimes?" 

"I  am  Miss  Grimes,"   I  answered  calmly. 

"Oh!"— with  a  sneer. 

177 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Not  much — not  to  me." 

"To  your  father — and  all  the  rest,  I  am." 

"Well,  where  is  Miss  Grimes?" 

"How  should  /  know?"  I  countered. 

"You  do  know." 

"Do  I?"  —smilingly,  provokingly. 

"Yes.    Where  is  she?" 

"  In  Parkersburg." 

"What?     Take  care,  now!" 

"She  is." 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"Well,  I  know." 

"Why  didn't  she  come — why  did  she  go 
to  Parkersburg?" 

"She  got  a  better  job,  she  thought." 

"Oh!" 

I  nodded,  still  searching  his  face. 

"Did  she  send  you  in  her  stead?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"No?" 

"No." 

"  How  did  you  learn  about  this  place,  then, 
and  that  I  had  engaged  her — and  that  she 
wasn't  coming?" 

I  kept  silent. 

178 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Tell  me,"— sternly. 

"I  won't,"— firmly. 

"You  won't?" — gruffly,  his  brows  knitted. 

"No." 

A  few  moments  he  glared  at  me,  nervously 
drumming  the  desk,  with  his  clenched  hand. 
"You  say  she  didn't  tell  you  about  this 
place?" 

"I  didn't  say." 

"Well,  did  she?" 

"She  did  not." 

"Is  she  a  friend  of  yours?" 

"No." 

"An  acquaintance?" 

"No." 

"Have  you  ever  met  her?" 

"I  have  not." 

Clearly  he  was  puzzled.  He  frowned  and 
pursed  his  lips. 

"And  you  won't  enlighten  me — won't  tell 
me  anything  more?"  he  said. 

"No,  I  won't." 

"Answer  me  this  one  question:  did  you 
have  this  place  in  mind  when  we  met  on  the 
train?" 

"Yes." 

179 


"You  did?"  -with  a  start. 

I  nodded. 

"And  you  knew  me  to  be  a  member  of  the 
firm— eh?" 

"No." 

"Now!" 

"Indeed  I  did  not" — on  my  dignity,— 
"and  you  have  no  right  to  question  my 
word." 

The  merest  suggestion  of  a  smile  relaxed 
his  stern  mouth,  Nell;  and  he  said  quickly: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss — Miss— 

"Miss  Grimes,"  I  prompted,  giggling. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  call  you,"  he  mut- 
tered irritably. 

"Miss  Grimes,"  I  repeated. 

"Nor  what  to  think  you,"  he  went  on, 
again  fixing  his  eyes  upon  me,  sternly — but 
admiringly,  I  imagined. 

"Think  me  just  what  I  appear  to  be,"  I 
suggested. 

"An  arch  little  adventuress?" —his  eyes 
twinkling. 

"You're — you're  mean,  Mr. — Mr.  Ned," 
I  pouted. 

"Mr.  Ned— «h?"  he  smiled. 

180 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Oh!"  I  cried  in  confusion — partly  real, 
Nell! — "I  didn't  mean  to  call  you  that;  I've 
just  been  thinking  of  you  by  that  name,  to 
distinguish  you,  in  my  mind,  from  your 
father,  Mr.  Durbin." 

"Well,  'Mr.  Ned'  is  all  right,  I  suppose; 
at  any  rate,  I've  Jio  radical  objection  to  it. 
You  may  continue  to  think  of  me  as  'Mr. 
Ned,'  if  it  pleases  you.  But  what  am  I  to 
call  you?  " 

"Miss  Grimes,  I  told  you." 

"But  you're  not  Miss  Grimes,"  he  objected. 

"  I'm  filling  her  place,  performing  her  duties, 
and—" 

"But  you  won't  be  long,"  he  interrupted, 
the  stern  look  coming  back  to  his  face. 

"I  won't?"  I  queried  faintly. 

"No,  you  won't." 

"You  mean  to  discharge  me?" 

"I  never  engaged  you." 

"Well,  what  do  you  intend,  then — to  send 
me  about  my  business,  or — or  hand  me  over 
to  the  police?  " 

And  I  feigned  a  fear  that  I  partly  felt. 

"Neither,"  he  smiled  indulgently;  "I  mean 
to  find  you  another  position." 

181 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Another  position?" 

"Sure." 

"You  needn't  trouble  yourself,"  I  snapped, 
really  quite  angry;  "I  found  this  one  for 
myself,  and  I  can  find  another." 

"It  may  not  prove  so  easy,  little  girl." 

His  voice  was  soft  with  genuine  kindness,  I 
thought. 

"I  don't  care,"  I  murmured,  tears  of  dis- 
tress in  my  eyes;  "I  don't  desire  your  help. 
A  pretty  figure  you'd  cut — sending  me  to 
somebody  else,  when  you  won't  have  me 
yourself." 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  nodding  gravely, 
"there  is  a  difficulty  I  hadn't  thought  of. 
It  would  look  rather  peculiar — and  prove 
rather  embarrassing,  no  doubt.  But  you 
can't  stay  here." 

"Why  can't  I— Mr.  Ned?" 

"Why  can't  you!" — crossly. — "You  know 
why,  Miss — Miss — oh,  the  devil!  I  can't  call 
you  Miss  Grimes,  when  I  know  you're  not 
Miss  Grimes.  But  you  know  why  I  can't  have 
you  here.  My  father  would  be  neglecting  busi- 
ness and  making  a  fool  of  himself,  inside  of  a 
week;  he'd  carry  flowers  to  you,  want  you 

182 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 


to  go  out  to  lunch  with  him,  try  to  carry  you 
off  to  every  matinee  and — " 

I  giggled  outright. 

"  What  amuses  you?"  he  demanded  sharply. 

"You,"  I  replied. 

"What's  so  amusing  about  me?" —pee- 
vishly. 

"  Your  marvelous  knowledge  of  your  father's 
frailties." 

"What  do  you  mean?    Explain." 

"He  has  already  carried  me  flowers,  had 
me  out  to  lunch  and  insisted  on  taking  me  to 
a  matinee." 

Oh,  Nell  Adams !  I  wanted  to  scream  with 
laughter.  If  you  could  have  seen  the  look  on 
that  young  man's  face ! 

"Well,  I'll— I'll  be— be"  he  muttered;  and 
then  he  sat  silent,  biting  his  lips  and  scowling. 

After  a  few  moments,  however,  he  resumed 
in  a  cold  business-like  tone: 

"Miss — Miss  Grimes," — I  could  see  that  it 
cost  him  an  effort  to  thus  address  me! — "it's 
not  necessary  for  us  to  discuss  the  matter 
farther.  You  can't  stay  here;  you  must  go. 
My  father,  according  to  your  own  testimony, 
has  already  been  making  a  fool  of  himself;  and 

183 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

shortly  he'd  become  a  consummate  nuisance 
to  you,  to  me — and  everybody  concerned. 
He's  old — in  his  dotage,  I  sometimes  think, 
judging  from  his  foolishness;  but  he's  my 
father — and  I'm  in  duty  bound  to  respect  him 
and  keep  him,  as  far  as  possible,  from  making 
himself  ridiculous  and,  at  the  same  time,  keep 
him  from  making  me  and  our  business  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  town.  I'd  really  like 
to  have  you  remain;  I  think  you'd  prove 
satisfactory,  if  it  wasn't  for  your  good  looks. 
But  it's  out  of  the  question;  I  can't  risk 
keeping  you — it  won't  do." 

"But  your  father  won't  want  me  to  leave," 
I  objected. 

"Of  course  not!" — gritting  his  teeth. 

"And  he's  the  senior  member  of  the  firm," 
I  suggested  softly. 

A  moment  he  searched  my  face ;  then : 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"He  ought  to  have  a  say  in  the  matter." 

"Is  that  so!"  —  and  again  he  stared  hard 
at  me. 

I  nodded. 

"Well,  he— he  didn't  hire  you." 

"Neither  did  you." 

184 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"  And,  for  that  very  reason,  you've  no  place 
here." 

"True,  probably.  But  what  will  you  say 
to  Mr.  Durbin?  How  will  you  explain?" 

"Explain  what?" 

"  Explain  why  you've  broken  your  word — 
the  bargain  you  made." 

"The  bargain?" — plainly  puzzled. 

Once  more  I  nodded,  smiling,  my  eyes  half- 
closed. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  I  guess.  What 
bargain?" 

"You  know,"  I  said  placidly;  "the  bargain 
you  made  with  your  father :  that  you  were 
to  select  a  girl  for  the  place,  that  she  was  to 
stay  a  year — if  she  proved  satisfactory,  and 
that  he  was  to  marry  her — if  he  indulged  in 
any  gallantries." 

His  face  went  blank;  and  I  laughed — a 
little  tinkling,  silvery  laugh,  Sweet  Nell. 

''Who  told  you  all  that?"  he  cried,  smiling 
a  sickly  smile. 

"You  did," — triumphantly. 

"I  did?    On  the  train?" 

"Of  course." 

"Not  all  of  it,  did  I?" 

185 


"Your  father  told  me  a  part." 

Again  I  had  to  laugh  at  his  rueful  expres- 
sion of  countenance. 

"And  we're  a  pair  of  precious  idiots/'  he 
growled;  "I'm  getting  to  be  as  bad  as  he  is." 

"Well,"  I  pursued,  coquet tishly  cocking 
my  head  and  lifting  my  brows,  "what' re  you 
going  to  say  to  your  father?  He  thinks  me 
Miss  Grimes,  thinks  that  you  engaged  me, 
thinks  that  you  consider  me  safely  unattrac- 
tive. Are  you  going  to  admit  your — your 
mistake,  and  own  up  that  I  am — am  danger- 
ous; or  are  you  going  to  reveal  my  duplicity- 
confess  that  fate  has  outwitted  you?" 

"I'm  not  outwitted." 

"No?" 

"No,  indeed." 

"  Well,  if  you  betray  my  duplicity,  how  will 
you  explain  that  you  did  not  denounce  me 
as  soon  as  you  discovered  me  in  the  office?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  explain  anything,  my 
dear  child." 

"Oh!" 

"  No,  I'm  not  going  to  do  any  of  the  things 
you  mention," — quite  decidedly. — "My father 
wouldn't — simply  couldn't — keep  his  mouth 

186 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

shut;  I  know  him.  The  reporters  would  get 
hold  of  the  thing,  and  the  papers  would  be 
full  of  it;  and  I  shouldn't  hear  the  last  of  it 
for  a  year.  No/' — shaking  his  head  and 
smiling  rather  wearily, — "I  know  a  better 
way  out  of  the  muddle.  I'll  let  you  stay  here 
a  week  or  two ;  then  you  must  tell  father  that 
you  don't  like  the  job — and  resign." 

"  I  must?  "•  —indignantly. 

"  I  see  no  other  way." 

"Well,  I  won't  do  it." 

"Why?" 

"Why?  What  a  question!  Places  are  not 
so  easy  to  secure — you  say  so  yourself;  and 
I'm  not  going  to  throw  up  a  situation  without 
cause.  I  know  I  shall  like  the  place — I  know 
I  shall;  and  I'm  not  going  to  lie — just  to 
throw  myself  out  of  a  job.  No,  indeed  I'm 
not !  You  can  discharge  me — by  telling  your 
father  I'm  not  Miss  Grimes;  but  I'm  not 
going  to  resign.  So  there!" 

He  looked — and  looked — and  looked — at 
me,  Nell.  At  last  he  muttered : 

"You're  a  perverse  child — a  regular  spoiled 
girl,  you  are." 

"I   don't   think   it's   nice   to   call   people 

187 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

names,"  I  pouted,  bewitchingly  as  I  knew 
how,  "just  because  they  don't  agree  with 
you." 

He  lay  back  and  laughed.  Then  he  con- 
sulted his  watch,  and  said : 

"You're  irresistible,  little  girl.  You  win: 
I  lose.  You  can  stay  till  you  find  another 
place.  Is  that  fair — is  that  a  bargain,  that 
you're  to  stay  on  as  Miss  Grimes  till  you 
secure  another  situation,  and  then  resign?" 

"Yes,"  I  agreed. 

"All  right." 

And  I  stayed. 


188 


IX. 


THE  next  morning  when  Mr.  Ned  came  into 
the  office,  he  stopped  short  and  glared  at  the 
bouquet  his  father  had  just  placed  upon  my 
desk — his  lips  drawn  into  a  tense  straight 
line,  his  nostrils  dilated.  Mr.  Durbin  silently 
noted  his  big  son's  attitude  and  expression  of 
countenance;  then  he  silently  but  shame- 
lessly winked  and  grinned  at  me.  And  I  had 
all  I  could  manage,  Sweet  Nell,  to  keep  my 
tricksy  face  straight. 

Mr.  Ned  turned  and  gave  his  father  a  look, 
in  which  reproach  and  disgust  were  mingled 
and  blended;  then  he  turned  his  attention 
to  me. 

"Miss  Grimes,"  he  began  abruptly,  drawing 
a  morning  paper  from  his  pocket,  "I  see 
they've  been  having  rather  a  strange  elope- 
ment down  in  your  corner  of  the  state — down 
in  the  Muskingum  valley." 

Nell,  that  brief  and  seemingly  insignificant 
statement  threatened  to  send  me  in  a  heap 
to  the  floor.  I  knew  in  a  moment  just  what 

189 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

it  meant — thought  I  knew  just  what  was  com- 
ing; and  I  never  felt  so  much  like  giving  a 
scream  and  fainting  dead  away,  in  my  life. 
Things  in  the  room  began  to  turn  all  yellow 
and  green  and  black;  my  fingers  and  toes 
got  all  tingly;  and  awful  sounds  began  to 
crack  and  roar  in  my  ears.  But  my  native 
common  sense — the  little  I  have,  Nell!— 
did  not  entirely  desert  me,  and  I  managed  to 
get  mad  at  my  foolish  self;  and  then  I  was 
all  right  again — all  in  a  jiffy.  What  difference 
did  it  make,  anyhow,  what  Mr.  Ned  suspected 
or  learned?  I  asked  myself  the  question. 
Already  he  knew  I  was  not  Miss  Grimes. 
What  matter  if  he  discovered  who  I  really 
was?  So  I  lifted  my  eyes — and  coolly,  fear- 
lessly met  his  look. 

"Y-e-s?"  I  murmured  softly,  indolently, 
questioningly,  in  answer  to  his  remark. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  with  a  queer,  puckery 
smile,  "an  old  graybeard  of  sixty  or  more 
eloped  with  a  pretty  miss  in  her  tender  teens. 
Which  was  remarkable  enough  in  itself,  but 
not  half  so  remarkable  as  the  fact  that  the 
bit  of  romantic  folly  ended  in  an  unromantic 
fiasco.  It  appears  from  the  report  in  the 

190 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Journal  here," — tapping  the  paper  with  his 
fore  finger  and  almost  leering  into  my  face,— 
"that  the  precious  pair  of  young  and  inex- 
perienced nestlings  began  their  flight  from 
the  little  inland  town  of  Chesterville,  and— 
you  know  where  that  is,  Miss  Grimes?" 

This  question  with  startling  suddenness. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  I  replied  promptly  and 
placidly;  "  I've  been  there." 

"Oh!"— with  a  world  of  sly  and  obscure 
meaning. 

"  Uh-huh," — smirking  ravishingly. 

"W-e-11,  as  I  say,  the  pair  set  out  from 
Chesterville — in  the  dead  and  dark  of  night, 
in  the  midst  of  a  mad  storm,  and  in  a  two- 
horse  buggy — to  make  their  way  to  the 
nearest  railway  station  some  miles  away; 
and — in  spite  of  muddy  roads,  and  accidents 
by  flood  and  field,  and  the  hot  pursuit  of  a 
hotter  brother — they  reached  their  destina- 
tion, just  in  time  to  catch  the  early  morning 
train  up  the  valley.  But  here  comes  the 
strange,  the  unromantic,  the  sad  part  of  the 
story.  Apparently  the  two  sweet  childish 
things  had  grown  tired  of  each  other  in  so 
short  a  time.  Undying  love  had  died — and 

191 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

all  that.  What  true-lover's  quarrel  they  had 
in  the  murk  and  the  mud  of  the  night  will 
never  be  known — alas!  But  this  fact  stands 
out  like  a  week-old  beard  on  a  tramp's  face: 
at  the  station  they  parted;  the  young  lady 
went  north  and  her  bold  and  rheumatic 
cavalier  went  south.  And  now  the  sweet 
and  misguided  young  miss's  brother  is  keeping 
the  wires  hot,  telegraphing  the  police  of 
Zanesville  and  Columbus — and  sundry  other 
cities,  to  be  on  the  watch  for  her  and  appre- 
hend her  and  have  and  hold  her,  till  his 
arrival.  He  describes  her  as  young  and  inex- 
perienced in  the  ways  of  the  naughty  world, 
but  beautiful  beyond  compare — enchantingly, 
seductively  beautiful.  The  description  of 
her — as  given  by  the  veracious  reporter  for 
the  voracious  public — is  calculated  to  make 
an  impressionable  man's  mouth  water." 

:'Your  rather  inadequate  account  of  that 
description  does  make  my  mouth  water," 
chuckled  Mr.  Durbin,  hugging  himself  and 
rolling  his  eyes  ecstatically.  "Oh,  I  wish  I 
were  on  the  police  force  this  minute!" 

The  son  turned  and  glowered  at  the  father, 
Nell;  and  the  father  promptly  and  undigni- 

192 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

fiedly  kicked  up  his  heels  and  went  into  a 
convulsion  of  merriment — and  laughed,  and 
laughed,  till  his  fat  face  was  a  quivering  mass 
of  purple,  fringed  with  fuzzy,  silvery  hair  and 
studded  with  teardrops.  The  son  scowled 
darkly  and  bit  his  lips.  Oh,  Nell — Nell 
Adams !  I  did  so  want  to  let  loose  and  screech ; 
but  instead  I  controlled  myself — how  I  did  I 
haven't  the  faintest  idea! — and  cried  ex- 
citedly, clapping  my  hands: 

"Oh,  Mr.— Mr.  Ned!"— And  immediately 
Mr.  Durbin  ceased  to  laugh  and  was  all  atten- 
tion, and  somewhat  displeased  over  some- 
thing, I  could  plainly  see. — "But  what  're 
their  names —  of  the  eloping  couple?  Maybe 
I  know  them.  What  're  their  names?" 

Mr.  Ned  looked  me  straight  in  the  eyes, 
the  corners  of  his  wide  mouth  twitching. 

"Well,  now,  maybe  you  do,"  he  said.  "Let 
me  see," — consulting  the  paper; — "why  their 
names  're  Colonel  Wells  and  Marjory  Dawes. 
Do  you  know  them,  Miss — Miss  Grimes?" 

His  eyes  were  sparkling;  the  corners  of 
his  mouth  were  still  twitching. 

"No,  I  don't  know  them,"  I  replied,  reflect- 
ively shaking  my  head, — and  I  was  telling 

193 


the  truth,  Sweet  Nell  of  old  Oberlin ;  for  who 
does  know  anyone,  even  himself?—  •"  but  I've 
met  them." 

"Indeed?"— smiling. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Ned." 

Did  I  see  Mr.  Durbin  the  elder  wince? 
And  what  would  cause  him  to  wince?  Ah, 
I  had  called  his  son  "Mr.  Ned!"  Did  he 
think  I  was  getting  too  familiar?  Was  the 
old  beau  getting  jealous?  I  wondered — oh,  I 
wondered! — and  tittered  a  little,  under  my 
breath. 

"And  is  Miss  Dawes  as — as  beautiful  as 
the  credible  reporter  would  have  the  credulous 
public  credit  her  with  being?"  Mr.  Ned  was 
saying. 

I  paused  a  moment  before  making  answer, 
to  admire  his  skillful  juggling  with  words— 
and  to  consider  what  my  reply  should  be. 
Then  I  returned  modestly,  but  glibly: 

"You  oughtn't  to  ask  me  such  a  question, 
Mr.  Ned;  you  know  one  woman  never  ad- 
mires another — really  and  trulv." 

"Oh!"  he  laughed.  "I  see.  Well,  did 
those  pepole  live  in  Chesterville — both  of 
them?" 

194 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Miss  Dawes  did,"  I  returned  frankly; 
"  Colonel  Wells  lived  in  the  South  somewhere, 
I  think." 

"Uh-huh.  Well,  the  paper  says  it's  now 
the  opinion  of  the  young  lady's  friends  that 
she  did  not  really  elope  with  the  gay  and 
festive  Colonel,  at  all;  but  just  used  him  as 
a  convenient  crutch  upon  which  to  limp  out 
of  reach  of  her  brother,  at  whom  she  was 
angry  on  account  of  his  approaching  marriage. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  that?" 

And  once  more  he  was  boring  me  through 
with  his  keen  gray  eyes. 

"How  should  I  know,  Mr.  Ned?"  I  parried 
neatly. 

"True  enough,"  he  muttered  slowly  and 
thoughtfully;  "how  should  you?"— Then, 
with  a  quick  change  of  manner: — "But  per- 
haps you'd  like  to  look  over  the  account 
yourself,  eh?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  replied,  beautiful 
candor  beaming  from  my  countenance,  I'm 
certain;  "I'm  not  much  interested." 

"All  right,"— briskly,— "we'll  get  down 
to  work,  then." 

And  I  sat  and  worked  and  wondered,  and 

195 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

wondered  and  worked.  Did  he  know — did 
he  suspect — did  he  guess?  I  couldn't  decide. 
I  had  met  my  match,  chum  mine;  and  I 
couldn't  read  him. 

At  lunch-time  Mr.  Ned  was  absent  from  the 
office;  and  again  I  went  out  with  Mr.  Durbin. 

"Miss  Grimes,"  he  remarked  as  we  were 
returning,  "I  noticed  you  calling  my  son 
'Mr.  Ned.'" 

"Yes?"  I  replied  tentatively. 

"Yes;  and  I  wouldn't  do  it,  if  I  were  you." 

"No?" — stiffly,  but  sniffing  fun  in  the  air. 

"No,  I  don't  believe  I  would." 

"Why,  Mr.  Durbin?" 

"Well,  my  reason  for  cautioning  you  is 
this :  I  want  you  to  continue  in  our  employ- 
want  you  to,  awfully  bad;  and  I'm  afraid 
Ned — he's  so  devilish  peculiar! — will  think 
you  entirely  too  familiar  in  thus  addressing 
him,  will  misunderstand  you  and  take  it 
amiss.  I'm  afraid  he  will — that's  all." 

"Do  you — you  think  he  will,  Mr.  Durbin?" 
—with  assumed  fear  and  trembling. 

"No — no!  Don't  misunderstand  me,  Miss 
Grimes.  I  don't  know  that  I  think  he  will; 
as  I  just  said,  I  simply  have  a  fear  that  he 

196 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

will — that  he  may,  at  any  rate.    Understand? " 

"Y-e-s,  I — I  guess  so.  And  if  he  should, 
Mr.  Durbin?" 

"Huh?"— alertly. 

"Why,  if  he  should  think  me  too  uncon- 
ventional— if  he  should  get  affronted,  what 
of  it?" 

"What  of  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing!  Only — only  he 
might  make  your  unconventionality  an — an 
excuse  to  discharge  you." 

"To  discharge  me?" — in  well-feigned  dis- 
may. 

He  nodded — very  gravely. 

"Well,"  I  murmured  caressingly,  trust- 
fully, "you  wouldn't — wouldn't  let  him,  would 
you?"  " 

"Not  much  I  wouldn't — not  much!"  —and, 
Nell,  you  should  have  beheld  the  pomposity 
of  his  strut! — "No,  indeed,  I  wouldn't  let 
him  discharge  you.  But" — confidentially,— 
"  I  want  everything  to  go  along  smoothly  and 
pleasantly,  you  know — you  understand.  As 
I  said  to  you,  Ned's  a  mighty  peculiar  chap; 
as  near  as  I  can  understand  him  and  his 

197 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

whims  and  prejudices,  he  has  no  fancy  for 
women  at  all.  He  dislikes  the  whole  sex- 
pretty  ones  in  particular,  I  guess.  I  must 
admit,  though," — beaming  worshipful  admi- 
ration upon  me! — "that  he  talked  more  to 
you  this  morning,  than  I  ever  knew  him  to 
talk  to  a  woman  before  in  his  life — on  any 
subject  outside  of  business." 

Poor  old  fellow !  I  really  felt  sorry  for  him, 
Nell.  How  the  big  virile  son  had  pulled  the 
wool  over  his  little  aesthetic  dad's  eyes! 

"Still  you  fear  he  might  object  to  my 
addressing  him  so — so  informally?" 

The  dear  old  chap  nodded,  bestowing  upon 
me  a  look  of  due  and  impressive  gravity. 
And  then  I  exploded  a  bomb  under  him,  Nell 
— a  bomb  that  shattered  his  complacency, 
and  broke  him  all  up. 

"Why,"  I  chirped  artlessly,  "he  told  me 
this  morning  he  didn't  care  if  I  called  him 
'Mr.  Ned."' 

The  bomb  had  gone  off;  and  he  was  up  in 
the  air — out  of  sight.  When  he  finally  alighted 
upon  terra  firma,  tattered  and  torn  and  blank 
of  countenance  and  bankrupt  of  breath,  he 
gasped : 

198 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"He— Ned  told  you  that,  Miss  Grimes?" 

"He  did,  Mr.  Durbin." 

"Said  that  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'll  —  be— blowed!" 

I  thought  he  had  already  been  blowed, 
Nell;  but  I  didn't  say  so. 

We  had  reached  the  foyer  of  our  office 
building.  Mr.  Durbin  began  to  gurgle  and 
sputter,  and  wheeze  and  chuckle;  and  all 
the  way  up  in  the  elevator  he  went  out  of 
one  spasm  into  another. 

When  we  were  again  seated  in  the  office, 
he  looked  at  me — a  dazed,  all-gone  expression 
upon  his  fat  round  face — and  muttered  in 
awe-struck  tones: 

"Miss  Grimes,  you're  a  wonder,  a  witch — 
that's  what  you  are.  Yes,  you're  more  than 
that;  you're  an  enchantress,  a — a — what  is 
it  you  call  it? — a  siren.  Why,  you've  had 
more  influence  over  Ned  in  twenty-four  hours 
than  all  the  other  women  he  has  ever  come 
in  contact  with  have  had  in  twenty-four 
years.  Yes,  you  have;  I'm  telling  you  the 
truth." — I  knew  the  dear  enthusiastic  old 
fellow  wasn't  telling  the  truth,  chum  mine; 

199 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

knew  the  son  wasn't  half  the  woman-hater 
the  fond  father  imagined;  but  it  was  sweet 
to  hear  such  an  encomium  upon  my  prowess 
as  an  enchantress  pronounced,  just  the  same. 
— "But  I  don't  know  whether  to  be  delighted 
or  concerned  about  what  you've  told  me; 
don't  know  whether  Ned  is  just  coming  to  his 
senses — or  just  losing  'em.  I'm  a  little  sus- 
picious he  isn't  just  right,  a  little  fearful 
something  ails  him.  Does  he — he  appear  all 
right  to  you,  Miss  Grimes?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  I  murmured  in  a  tone  of 
deep  sincerity. 

And  I  wasn't  prevaricating  a  little  bit, 
Nell — as  you  will  readily  guess;  Mr.  Ned  did 
appear  all  right — did  look  good  to  me ! 

"You  can't  realize  how  glad  I  am  to  hear 
you  say  that,"  Mr.  Durbin  pursued.  "And 
you  think,  then,  Miss  Grimes,  that  Ned  is 
just — just  unbending,  as  it  were,  just  yielding 
to  the  fascination  of  your  beauty  of  person 
and  character,  just  coming  under  the  influence 
of  your  witcheries?" 

I  dropped  my  eyes  and  blushed  prettily 
and  properly. 

"Really,  Mr.  Durbin,"  I  made  answer,  "  I— 
200 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  haven't  thought  much — much  about  it." 
What  a  monstrous  fib,  Nell  Adams!  I 
hadn't  been  thinking — hadn't  been  able  to 
think — of  anything  else. 

"Well,"  my  companion  concluded,  pre- 
paring to  resume  work,  "I  only  hope  my 
dreams  and  desires  may  come  true.  I'd  like 
to  see  that  boy — as  a  fit  punishment  for  his 
past  contempt  for  the  female  sex,  and  for  the 
scorn  and  abuse  he  has  heaped  upon  me — 
smitten  with  an  absolutely  hopeless  passion. 
There!" 

The  cruel  and  wicked  old  wretch!  / 
didn't  want  to  see  Mr.  Ned  punished  like  that, 
Nell — smitten  with  a  hopeless  passion.  No, 
indeed! 

Well,  several  days  passed  without  material 
change  in  the  status  of  our  affairs.  Mr.  Ned 
said  no  more  about  my  leaving;  and  I  made 
no  effort  to  secure  another  position.  I  was 
content  to  let  things  drift,  to  let  time  and  fate 
decide  for  me  what  I  couldn't  decide  for 
myself.  I've  said  no  material  change  took 
place  in  our  affairs;  but  a  few  things  I  noted. 
Among  others,  every  tune  I  passed  through 
the  outer  office — especially  when  unaccom- 

201 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

panied — those  men  and  women  out  there  had 
a  deal  of  nudging  and  winking,  and  gawking 
and  giggling,  to  do;  and  it  became  more  and 
more  nearly  unbearable.  Jones,  the  hollow- 
cheeked,  red-haired  man  at  the  desk  near  the 
door,  was  particularly  offensive.  I  couldn't 
pass  him  without  being  conscious  of  his  dis- 
respectful smirks  and  insinuating  leers.  Also, 
I  noted  that  Mr.  Durbin  donned  a  new  panama 
hat  and  lavender  tie  and  sported  a  new  fob 
chain,  and  that  Mr.  Ned  arrayed  his  fine 
figure  in  a  new  summer  suit.  Then,  I  noted— 
with  growing  concern,  and  amusement  closely 
akin  to  pleasure ! — that  every  time  Mr.  Durbin 
placed  a  fresh  bouquet  upon  my  desk,  Mr. 
Ned  promptly  had  a  spell  of  the  sulks,  and 
every  time  Mr.  Ned  drew  near  me  to  dictate 
a  letter  Mr.  Durbin  had  an  attack  of  the 
fidgets.  And  the  thought  came  to  me:  Mar- 
jory Dawes,  your  presence  in  this  office  is 
going  to  make  serious  trouble;  you're  array- 
ing father  against  son  and  son  against  father. 
And  I  was  worried — really  and  truly  worried, 
my  Nell! — and  didn't  know  just  what  to 
do. 

One  evening  about  closing  time,  a  week 
202 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

after  my  arrival  in  the  city,  Mr.  Ned  sauntered 
into  the  private  office,  an  afternoon  paper 
in  his  hand.  He  gave  me  an  odd,  quizzi- 
cal look  as  he  drew  near  my  desk;  and  I 
started,  wondering  what  was  coming.  Having 
indented  a  place  upon  the  paper  with  his 
thumb  nail,  he  threw  the  sheet  upon  my  desk ; 
then  he  turned  and  walked  over  to  a  window 
and  stood  staring  out  moodily,  his  hands 
thrust  deep  into  his  pockets,  his  square 
shoulders  sagged. 

I  glanced  at  the  paper  in  front  of  me,  and 
read: 

"Mr.  Jack  Dawes  of  Chesterville,  of  whose 
sister's  elopement  with  a  man  old  enough  to 
be  her  grandfather  mention  was  made  some 
days  ago,  is  in  Columbus,  looking  for  the 
recreant  miss.  The  brother  has  traced  the 
misguided  sister  to  this  place  and  has  evoked 
the  aid  of  the  city  police  to  aid  him  in  the 
search.  Thus  far  no  trace  of  the  young 
woman  has  been  discovered.  However,  the 
brother  has  determined  to  a  certainty  that 
his  sister  came  here  alone  and  that  the  gallant 
old  beau  in  whose  company  she  left  home  has 
made  tracks  for  the  South.  Evidently  he 

203 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

was  in  haste  to  seek  a  more  congenial  clime, 
and  to  escape  the  wrath  of  a  justly  incensed 
brother." 

I  was  mad  at  once — mad  all  through  and 
all  over!  Wouldn't  the  silly  newspapers  ever 
get  through  publishing  lying  stuff  about  me? 
Me!  And  Jack  was  making  a  prime  nuisance 
of  himself!  Why  didn't  he  go  back  home  and 
behave  himself?  Oh,  but  I  was  good  and  mad, 
Nell! 

Mr.  Ned  left  the  window  and,  dropping  into 
a  chair,  remarked  carelessly: 

"What  do  you  think  about  that,  Miss 
Grimes?" 

I  glanced  up  at  him.  The  mean  thing! 
He  was  laughing  at  me — with  his  eyes! 

"  I — I  suppose  it's  all  so,"  I  stammered. 

"What  're  you  two  talking  about?"  Mr. 
Durbin  interjected  testily. 

"  Talking  about  a  little  article  in  the  paper 
here,  father,"  Mr.  Ned  returned  quietly— 
but  actually  winking  at  me;  "  it's  something 
that  wouldn't  interest  you,  I  think.  By  the 
way,  won't  you  step  out  and  see  if  Clawson 
has  those  deeds  ready?" 

The  father  withdrew,   frowning  pettishly; 

204 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

and  then  the  son  hastened  to  say — in  a  low, 
confidential  tone: 

"What  do  you  think  about  that,  Miss 
Grimes — honestly,  you  know?" 

"  I've  told  you,"  I  said  coldly. 

"No  doubt  Mr.  Dawes  is  greatly  worried 
over  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  his 
sister,  don't  you  think  so,  Miss — Miss  Grimes?" 
— provokingly  drawling  the  name. 

"Perhaps,"  I  murmured  curtly  and  non- 
commit  tally. 

"If  7  knew  anything  of  the  whereabouts 
of  his  sister,"  he  continued  deliberately,  "I 
think  I'd  go  to  him  and  tell  him — just  to 
set  his  mind  at  rest." 

He  was  eyeing  me  sharply. 

"Would  you?"  was  all  I  could  say. 

"I  think  I  would.  What  would  you  do, 
under  similar  .circumstances,  Miss — Miss 
Grimes? "  —again  drawling  the  name. 

"I  think  I  should  attend  to  my  own  busi- 
ness." 

"Should?" 

"Yes — and  would" 

"Oh!" 

"Yes." 

205 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"But,  as  I  say,"  he  persisted,  "no  doubt 
Mr.  Dawes  is  worrying;  and  it's  a  worrisome 
thing  to  worry."  -Then,  after  a  moment's 
seeming  reflection :  "  I  think  I'll  see  Mr.  Dawes 
and  have  a  talk  with  him;  maybe  I  can  help 
him  out  in  his  search."  He  sat  looking  at  me, 
waiting  for  me  to  say  something  in  reply ;  but 
I  kept  still.  And  then  Mr.  Durbin  returned ; 
and  the  three  of  us  together  left  the  office. 

I  was  "next,"  of  course;  I  was  positive 
Mr.  Ned  Durbin  had  spotted  me  as  Marjory 
Dawes.  But  I  didn't  much  care;  I  was  becom- 
ing a  sinful  and  hardened  little  baggage,  I 
guess,  old  chum. 

The  next  morning,  contrary  to  his  custom, 
Mr.  Ned  was  in  the  office  on  my  arrival;  and 
his  father  was  absent. 

"Good  morning,"  I  twittered  cheerily. 

"Good  morning,"  he  croaked  moodily. 

Then  I  discovered  the  morning  Journal 
upon  my  desk;  and  I  knew  he  had  put  it 
there — knew  there  was  something  in  it  about 
me  and  my  affairs,  and  I  began  to  run  down 
the  column  of  locals  as  I  drew  the  pins  from 
my  hat.  Yes,  there  it  was — impudently 
staring  me  in  the  face. 

206 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Mr.  Jack  Dawes  of  Chesterville,"  it  ran, 
"left  for  Zanesville  over  the  eleven-forty  B. 
and  O.  last  night,  on  his  way  home.  To  a 
Journal  reporter  he  gave  the  information 
that  he  had  not  found  his  sister,  but  that  he 
had  received  positive  assurance  from  a  reliable 
source  that  she  is  in  the  city,  in  the  employ 
of  a  reputable  firm.  He  expressed  himself  as 
greatly  relieved,  if  not  wholly  satisfied,  and  said 
he  would  pursue  his  quest  no  further  at  present. 
He  left  full  of  admiration  for  the  Capital  City, 
its  growth  and  prosperity.  Mr.  Dawes  is  a 
well-to-do  merchant  in  a  flourishing  town." 

I  finished  reading  the  rather  important 
paragraph,  gave  a  little  sigh  and  went  and 
hung  up  my  hat. 

"Well?"  Mr.  Ned  ventured,  in  a  tone  of 
pique  and  impatience  mingled. 

"Well?"  I  countered  coolly. 

"What  have  you  to  say?" 

"Nothing.     Why  should  I?" 

"  Are  you  pleased  or  displeased  —  Miss 
Dawes?" 

I  knew  it  was  coming,  Nell ;  but  I  could  not 
keep  from  giving  a  slight  start,  nevertheless. 
And  I  felt  the  color  flaming  up  in  my  cheeks. 

207 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"  Neither,  Mr.  Edward  Durbin,"  I  answered 
smoothly  and  firmly ;  "  I'm  absolutely  uncon- 
cerned." 

"  That  so?  "  — tantalizingly,  smiling  broadly. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  I  presume  you  know  who  it  .was 
went  to  your  brother  and  gave  his  assurance 
of  your  well-being — eh?" 

"I  presume  I  do.     Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"To  ease  his  mind." 

"How  kind,  how  considerate  of  you!"  I 
cried  sneeringly. 

"Don't  you  think  I  did  right?" 

"I   think   you   meddled — unwarrantably." 

His  dark  face  flushed ;  and,  for  the  moment, 
I  feared  I  had  gone  too  far. 

"You  think  that,  Miss  Dawes?"  —  very 
slowly  and  soberly. 

"W-e-11,  haven't  I  room — haven't  I  reason 
to  think  it?"  I  faltered. 

"  I  think  not,  Miss  Dawes." 

I  was  silent  a  moment;   then  I  queried: 

"What  did  you  tell  him— Jack?" 

"  Told  him  you  had  a  place  in  my  office  and 
were  all  right." 

"Is  that  all?" 

208 


THE  MISADVENTURES   OF  MARJORY 

"That's  all." 

"You  didn't  tell — tell  him  I — I  sent  you 
to  him?" 

"I  certainly  did  not." 

"Did  he  ask  if  I  sent  you?" 

"He  did." 

"And  did  he  appear  hurt  that  I  had  not 
sent  you?" 

"Yes,  he  did." 

"Poor  old  Jack!"  I  murmured,  almost 
forgetting  the  presence  of  my  companion. 
"He  treated  me  shabbily,  shamefully;  but 
I  don't  want  him  to  worry  about  me.  But 
now  he'll  be  pestering  me  with  letters,  be 
begging  me  to  come  home." 

"No,  I  think  not,"  Mr.  Ned  said,  shaking 
his  head. 

"Why  won't  he,  then?" 

"I  arranged  everything  in  a  satisfactory 
way;  I'm  to  look  after  you." 

"You  are?" 

"Yes." 

"Foware?" 

He  nodded,  smiling  coolly,  provokingly. 

I  was  red-hot  inside  and  ice-cold  outside, 
Nell. 

209 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"  Just  what  arrangement  did  you  make  with 
my  brother?"  I  asked,  with  a  fine  show  of 
scorn  that  was  lost  upon  my  companion. 

"A  very  simple  one,"  he  grinned  in  reply. 
"He's  to  let  you  alone  till  you  get  ready  to 
return  to  Chesterville,  of  your  own  accord; 
and—" 

"Which  time  will  never  come,"  I  inter- 
jected. 

"I'm  to  stand  sponsor  for  your  good  be- 
havior,— 

"What  a  beautiful  arrangement!"  I  cried 
snappishly. 

"  Look  after  your  welfare,— 

"How  very  kind  of  you!" 

"And  report  to  him  occasionally  how  you 
are  coming  on." 

"A  transfer  of  guardianship!"  I  sneered. 

And  then  the  big — big  brute,  Nell  Adams, 
lay  back  and  laughed — laughed  loud  and 
long! 

I  got  up  and  walked  over  to  the  window, 
my  lips  trembling,  my  sight  blurred  by  tears. 
He  followed  me,  laid  a  hand  kindly  on  my 
shoulder  and  said  gently: 

"Look  here,  Miss  Dawes;    don't  feel  hurt 

210 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

about  this  thing.  I've  tried  to  do  you  a  kind- 
ness. Your  brother  was  here  in  the  city, 
resolved  to  make  a  fool  of  himself.  He  meant 
to  search  for  you,  have  the  police  on  your 
track  as  if  you  were  a  common  criminal,  have 
the  papers  full  of  you  and  your  affairs — and 
all  that.  And  it  would  have  made  it  very 
unpleasant  for  you,  given  you  an  unsavory 
notoriety,  done  violence  to  your  reputation 
forever,  perhaps.  I  had  a  hard  time  of 
dissuading  him  from  his  purpose;  and  I  had 
to  promise  him  all  I've  told  you,  before  he'd 
consent  to  act  sensible  and  turn  his  face  to- 
ward home.  No,  you  oughtn't  to  feel  hard 
toward  me;  really  you  ought  to  thank  me — 
though  I'm  far  from  wanting  you  to  do  so." 

He  made  a  move  to  leave  my  side. 

"But  I  don't  like  to  have  a  guardian,  Mr. 
Ned,"  I  pouted  tearfully;  "I  don't  like  to  be 
bossed.  That's  one  reason  I  ran  away  from 
my  brother.  And  think  of  your  sending  a 
report  of  my  behavior  to  Jack — just  like  a 
teacher  reports  an  unruly  child  to  its  parent! 
Oh,  dear — dear!  I  just  can't  stand  it — I 
can'*/" 

He  put  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder — and 
211 


THE  MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

let  it  slip  down  almost  to  the  level  of  my 
waist.  Oo — h!  You  can  imagine  how  I  was 
frightened,  Nell! 

"There— there,  little  girl!"  he  said  softly. 
"I'll— I'll— " 

I  don't  know  what  else  nice  and  comforting 
he  might  have  said,  Sweet  Nell  of  old  Oberlin, 
but  just  then  we  heard  his  father  coming 
through  the  outer  office;  so  we  got  into  our 
chairs  and  got  down  to  work.  Pshaw ! 


212 


X. 


SEVERAL  weeks  passed ;  and  it's  truly  sur- 
prising how  many  unimportant  and  trivial 
things  can  happen  in  several  times  seven  days. 
Perhaps,  Nell,  you'll  charge  me  with  culling 
out  the  least  important  and  most  uninter- 
esting events  to  write  about,  and  maybe 
you'll  be  right;  but  here  goes,  anyway. 

I  liked  my  place,  and  got  along  with  my 
work  as  slick  as  you  please;  but  I  was  in  a 
state  of  delightful  uncertainty  all  the  time, 
as  to  Mr.  Ned's  moods — and  his  father's 
tenses.  At  one  time  the  former  was  formal 
and  distant,  at  another  time  familiar  and  near 
— sometimes  quite  near;  and  on  occasion  the 
latter  was  fidgety  and  peevish,  and  again  he 
was  bland  and  chummy — sometimes  almost 
too  chummy.  If  I  favored  the  father  with  a 
smile,  the  son  favored  me  with  a  frown;  if  I 
looked  unutterable  things  at  the  son,  the 
father  muttered  unutterable  things  under 
his  breath — and  got  up  and  paced  the  room 
and  walled  his  eyes  like  a  dying  tragedian. 

213 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

It  was  a  new  and  rare  experience,  Nell;  and, 
in  spite  of  some  drawbacks  and  inconven- 
iences connected  with  it,  I  think  I  rather 
enjoyed  it. 

One  afternoon  Mr.  Ned  covertly  told  me  a 
funny  story  as  he  sat  dictating  to  me,  and 
we  both  laughed  heartily.  You've  noticed, 
haven't  you,  old  chum,  how  one's  enjoyment 
of  a  story  depends  much  more  upon  who  tells 
it,  than  upon  the  story  itself  and  how  it  is 
told?  Well,  Mr.  Durbin  became  aware  of 
our  merriment,  of  course;  and  he  got  up  and 
stalked  over  to  us  and  said  brusquely: 

"Are  you  two  young  addle-pates  laughing 
at  me?" 

Mr.  Ned  froze  stiff  in  his  chair  and  silently 
sat  and  stared  at  his  audacious  parent.  Mr. 
Durbin  stared  as  hard  at  his  son,  his  face 
very  sober;  but  I  thought  I  detected  a  funny 
little  twinkle  in  his  round  pale-blue  eyes. 

I  precipitated  myself  into  the  breach,  as 
peacemaker,  with: 

"No,  indeed,  we  weren't  laughing  at  you, 
Mr.  Durbin;  Mr.  Ned  was  just  telling  me  a 
funny  story." 

"0 — h!"  — with  an  indescribable  expression 

214 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

of  voice  and  countenance, — "O-h!   All  right, 
then." 

And  forthwith  he  whirled  and  returned  to 
his  desk  and  took  his  seat.  I  looked  after  him, 
concerned,  and  noted  that  his  shoulders  and 
back  were  quivering  and  shaking  in  a  strange 
manner;  but  I  couldn't  tell  whether  he  was 
convulsed  with  rage  or  remorse. 

"The  egotistical  and  supersensitive  old 
dunce ! "  Mr.  Ned  muttered ;  but  he  had  to  grin. 

Lunch-time  arrived;  and  Mr.  Durbin  came 
up  to  me, — right  in  the  presence  of  his  son  !— 
—and  said  boldly: 

"Miss  Grimes,  will  you — that  is,  have  you 
any  objections  to  going  out  to  lunch  with  me?  " 

"Why — why,"  I  stammered  in  genuine 
confusion,  "I — no,  I've  no  objections,  Mr. 
Durbin." 

"Very  well;  come  on,  then." 

I  cast  a  glance — a  sort  of  appealing  one,— 
at  Mr.  Ned  as  I  left  the  room.    His  face  was 
stern;   his  wide  mouth  was  set. 

As  we  passed  through  the  outer  office, 
Jones  gave  me  the  meanest  look  I  ever  got 
in  my  life — a  kind  of  insolent,  menacing  leer 
that  made  me  shiver. 

215 


On  our  way  back  from  lunch,  Mr.  Durbin 
stopped  to  talk  with  an  acquaintance;  and 
I  hurried  on.  The  outer  office  was  empty  but 
for  Jones.  He  gave  me  another  of  his  mean 
looks;  and  I  skurried  past  him,  shuddering 
at  thought  that  I  was  alone  with  him.  My 
heart  began  to  beat  wildly,  sickeningly,  and 
my  limbs  began  to  tremble.  Judge  of  my 
relief,  Nell — my  unexpected  and  infinite  relief! 
—to  find  Mr.  Ned  in  the  private  room.  He 
had  been  sulking,  and  had  not  gone  out  to 
lunch  at  all. 

As  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  my  face,  how- 
ever, his  attitude,  demeanor,  and  expression 
of  countenance  underwent  a  sudden  and  elec- 
trical change.  Springing  to  his  feet,  he  cried 
sharply : 

"  What's  the  matter,  Miss  Dawes?  What's 
the  matter?" 

I  burst  into  tears,  Nell;  I  just  couldn't 
help  it. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  repeated.  "Tell 
me  at  once." 

His  voice  was  kind  enough,  but  it  revealed 
inflexible  purpose  of  mind. 

" Oh,  nothing— nothing,  Mr.  Ned ! "  I  sobbed. 

216 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Yes,  there  is.    Out  with  it." 

"  Oh,  I'm  just  foolish— that's  all !  "—bravely 
striving  to  smile. — "I  was  just  hurt — and— 
and  scared — a  little." 

"Who  hurt  you — who  scared  you?" 

"I  don't  want  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Ned." 

"But  you  must." 

And   I   looked   up  at  him — and   believed 
him. 

"It  was  Jones,"  I  said. 

"Jones?" 

"Yes." 

"Jones!"— oh,  so  fiercely,  so  awfully! 

I  couldn't  do  anything  but  give  a  wee  little 
nod. 

"What  did  he  do  to  you?" 

"He  didn't  do  anything;  he— 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?" 

"He   didn't   say   anything,"    I   explained; 
"he  just — just  looked." 

"Is  that  all  he  did?" 

"I  understand.     Well,  I'll  'tend  to  Jones; 
I'll  settle  his  hash!" 

"Oh,  don't,  Mr.  Ned!    Please—" 

But  he  was  out  the  door,  and  had  banged  it 

217 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

shut.  And,  oh,  I  was  frightened — in  good 
earnest,  Nell  mine!  Mr.  Ned  was  so  big  and 
so  strong,  and  so  gloriously  angry;  and  Jones 
was  so  small  and  stoop-shouldered  and 
scrawny,  and  pusillanimously  insignificant. 
But,  in  spite  of  my  concern,  I  didn't  clap 
my  hands  over  my  ears  and  screech,  nor  did 
I  give  a  few  gasps  and  faint.  Instead,  I 
opened  the  door — just  a  wee  crack! — and 
peeped  out.  If  Mr.  Ned  meant  to  kill  Jones, 
I  wanted  to  be  ready  to  hollo  for  help — just 
before  the  last  breath  left  the  puppy's  body! 

My  champion  strode  up  to  his  victim  and 
gave  him  a  slap  between  the  shoulders,  that 
almost  jolted  him  from  his  stool. 

"Jones,"  he  cried,  "what  have  you  been 
doing  to  Miss  Daw — Miss  Grimes,  I  mean? 
What  have  you  been  doing  to  her,  I  say?" 

"No — no — nothing,  Mr.  Ned,"  the  puny 
little  man  stammered,  struggling  to  his  feet; 
"nothing  at  all." 

"Yes,  you  did!"  Mr.  Ned  growled  savagely. 
"Don't  you  lie  to  me!" 

"I — I  just  looked  at  her,"  the  vile  fellow 
whined. 

"That's  it;    that's  what  she  said — that's 

218 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

it!  Well,  don't  you  do  it  any  more.  Under- 
stand?" —menacingly. 

"Y— yes,  sir."   ' 

"And  don't  you  speak  to  her." 

"I  won't,  sir." 

"And  don't  you  talk  about  her." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Ned," — very,  very  meekly. 

"All  right  it  is.  But  if  you  forget  your 
promise,  I'll  take  you  by  the  neck  and  fling 
you  down  the  elevator  shaft.  And  we  may 
as  well  have  a  complete  understanding  right 
now;  and  you  can  bear  the  word  to  your 
associates.  If  there's  any  more  nudges  or 
winks,  or  hints  or  flings,  in  this  office,  about 
Miss  Grimes,  or  about  my  father,  or  about  me 
and  my  business,  I'll  fire  the  last  one  of  you. 
Understand  that?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Pass  it  along,  then;  and  remember  that 
it  goes.  I've  got  tired  and  disgusted;  and  I 
won't  tolerate  any  more  of  your  scandalous 
behavior — from  man  or  woman.  And  as  for 
you,  Jones — you  miserable  blackguard! — I've 
a  notion  to  discharge  you  this  minute." 

"Oh,  don't  do  that,  Mr.  Ned — don't  say 
that!"  the  poor  poltroon  pleaded.  "I  don't 

219 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

know  where  I  can  get  another  job;  and  you 
know  I  have  a  wife  and  four  children.  Please 
don't  discharge  me!" 

I  thought  it  about  time  for  me  to  interfere- 
to   intercede   in   the   fellow's  behalf.      So   I 
walked  out  and  said  timidly — for  I  was  des- 
perately afraid  I  might  make  matters  worse, 
the  humor  Mr.  Ned  was  in : 

"Don't  discharge  Mr.  Jones — for  my  sake, 
Mr.  Ned.  Don't  heap  hardship  upon  his 
innocent  wife  and  little  children,  in  an  effort 
to  punish  him."-  -Then,  looking  at  the  crest- 
fallen wretch  and  realizing  how  he  was  suffer- 
ing:— "And  I  think  you've  punished  him 
about  enough,  Mr.  Ned;  I  think  he  under- 
stands you,  and  I  don't  think  he'll  repeat 
his  offense.  Will  you,  Mr.  Jones?" 

"  Of  course  I  won't,  Miss  Grimes,"  he  mum- 
bled thickly,  humbly.  "But  indeed  I  didn't 
mean  anything;  I  just  wanted  to  be  sociable 
and—"  ' 

"Stop  that,"  Mr.  Ned  muttered  threaten- 
ingly; "cut  that  out  Jones.  Miss  Grimes 
isn't  asking  you  for  apologies  or  excuses;  she's 
just  interceding  for  you — and  you  ought  to  be 
too  ashamed  to  try  to  wag  your  tongue. 

220 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

That's  all,  now;  I'm  done.  You  can  get  to 
work." 

At  quitting  time  that  evening,  the  junior 
member  of  the  firm  remarked  to  the  senior: 

"I've  got  a  little  private  matter  I  desire  to 
talk  over  with  you,  father;  wait  a  few  min- 
utes, please."- —Then,  to  me: — "You  may  go 
at  any  time,  Miss  Grimes." 

Of  course  I  withdrew ;  but  not  before  I  had 
noticed  a  worried  expression  dispel  the  wonted 
jollity  of  Mr.  Durbin's  ruddy  countenance, 
and  a  look  of  fixed  and  stern  resolve  settle 
upon  Mr.  Ned's  dark  features.  As  I  stood 
waiting  at  the  elevator  shaft  I  discovered  that 
I  had  forgotten  to  bring  with  me  a  small 
parcel  from  my  desk,  a  trifling  purchase  that 
I  had  made  at  the  noon  hour;  and,  thoughtless 
of  the  private  interview  in  progress,  I  retraced 
my  steps  to  get  it.  But  as  I  re-entered  the 
outer  room,  I  caught  the  sound  of  my  em- 
ployers' voices  in  spirited  conversation;  and 
I  paused,  irresolute.  However,  the  first  words 
I  heard  fixed  my  attention  and  held  me  to 
the  spot.  7  was  the  subject  of  the  conver- 
sation; and  Mr.  Ned  was  saying: 

"It  isn't  you  I'm  thinking  about,  father. 

221 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

You're  old  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself, 
to  attend  to  your  own  business — yes;  old 
enough  to  know  better,  too.  But  I'm  think- 
ing about  Miss  Grimes;  I'm  trying  to  protect 
her,  to  save  her  from  being  sneered  at  and 
talked  about.  I've  read  the  riot  act  to 
Jones— 

"And  now  you  think  you'll  read  it  to  me, 
your  father — eh?"  Mr.  Durbin  shrilled  angrily. 
But  I  thought  there  was  a  half-smothered 
minor  tone  of  amusement  in  his  voice. 

Mr.  Ned  pursued  evenly  but  indignantly, 
decidedly : 

"And  I've  issued  orders  to  the  rest  of  the 
force,  through  him,  that  there's  to  be  no  more 
of  their  cursed  nonsense;  and  given  warning 
that  I'll  discharge  the  last  one  of  them,  if  I 
see  or  hear  of  another  wink  or  word  reflecting 
upon  Miss  Grimes.  And  now  I  give  you  the 
same  warning." 

"The  same  warning — to  me?"  queried  the 
father. 

"Yes,  the  same  warning — and  to  you." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Ned?   Explain." 

"You're  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  father; 
you  know  it.  You've  been  the  cause  of  all 

222 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

similar  trouble  in  the  past;  you  know  that, 
too.  Well,  it's  got  to  stop;  your  nonsensical 
actions  have  got  to  cease;  you've  got  to  stop 
forcing  your  attentions  upon  Miss  Grimes — 
that's  all." 

"I  don't  force  my  attentions  upon  her." 

"You  do." 

"  I  don't!  Has  she  ever  complained  to  you, 
that  I  force  my  attentions  upon  her  — 
hey?" 

"N — o," — rather  reluctantly. 

"  Well !  "—triumphantly. 

Despise  me,  if  you  will,  for  a  conscienceless 
little  eavesdropper,  Nell;  I  despised  myself. 
I  should  have  slipped  away,  I  know;  but  I 
didn't — I  just  couldn't.  I  sha'n't  try  to  excuse 
myself  on  the  ground  though, — which  shows 
I  still  have  a  faint  spark  of  honor  left! — that 
I  was  afraid  the  two  men  might  engage  in 
mortal  combat.  No — no,  I've  not  fallen  so 
low  as  all  that!  I  knew  very  well  the  son 
wouldn't  harm  the  father;  and  I  knew  equally 
well  the  father  couldn't  harm  the  son.  No,  I 
just  desired  to  hear  what  they  were  saying; 
and  I  stayed  to  gratify  my  curiosity.  Honest 
confession  precipitates  me  into  downright 

223 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

confusion,  Nell:  but  I  trust  it'll  be  good  for 
my  soul. 

"Well,"  Mr.  Ned  resumed,  after  a  slight 
pause,  "you've  got  to  quit  your  foolishness." 

1 '  My  foolishness! ' '  — wrathf ully . 

"Yes." 

"As  you're  pleased  to  term  it.  And  if  I 
don't?" 

"Then,  I'll  discharge  you." 

"Oh,  you  will!"  — sneeringly. 

"Yes,  I  will." 

"Ho,  ho!" — laughing  scornfully. — "Ned, 
you're  talking  through  your  hat;  and  the 
most  silly  thing  about  it  is  you  know  you're 
vociferating  through — through  your  head- 
covering.  Discharge  me!  You  know  you 
couldn't  discharge  me, — me,  the  senior  mem- 
ber of  the  firm! — if  you  would;  and  you 
wouldn't  if  you  could.  If  you  want  to  dissolve 
partnership,  though — why,  say  so." 

Nell,  I  was  getting  stirred  up — agitated. 
Was  I — innocent  little  Marjory  Dawes  of 
sleepy  old  Chesterville ! — fated  to  disrupt  and 
dissolve  the  great  and  prosperous  real-estate 
firm  of  Durbin  and  Son?  Heaven  forbid! 
That  wouldn't  do— wouldn't  do  at  all!  I'd 

224 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

have  to  take  a  sneak — just  have  to.  However, 
Mr.  Ned's  next  words  greatly  relieved  me. 

"I  don't  want  to  dissolve  our  partnership," 
he  replied  to  his  father's  testy  challenge;  "you 
know  I  don't.  But  things  can't  go  on  this 
way;  you've  got  to  behave." 

"Oh,  stuff!"  the  old  gentleman  cried  in- 
elegantly. "I  am  behaving  myself;  and  I'm 
living  up  to  our  contract.  You're  the  one 
that's  trying  to  kick  over  the  traces,  Ned, 
my  boy.  You  know  very  well  what  our  agree- 
ment was;  and  I'm  going  to  hold  you  to  it, 
rigidly.  You've  hired  Miss  Grimes,  and  she's 
doing  the  work  all  right ;  and  she's  got  to  stay 
a  year — that's  all.  You  said  you'd  bring  a 
girl  here,  with  a  face  that  would  stop  a  clock. 
Well,  I  s'pose  you  think  you've  done  it;  you 
had  the  whole  country  to  choose  from,  any- 
how, and  Miss  Grimes  was  your  choice." — 
Oh,  Nell — Nell!  I  was  all  puffed  up  with 
laughter;  and  hardly  able  to  breathe! — 
"Now  you've  got  to  be  satisfied;  I'm  not 
going  to  give  you  any  more  chances.  And 
I'm  not  going  to  act  the  boor  with  Miss 
Grimes,  just  to  please  you,  either;  I'm  going 
to  treat  her  courteously,  kindly,  generously, 

225 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

and  if  you  don't  like  it — well,  you  can  do  what 
you  threatened.     There!" 

"What  can  I  do?"  Mr.  Ned  demanded. 

"What  you  threatened,  I  said." 

"Well,  whatf" 

I  listened  breathlessly  for  Mr.  Durbin's 
reply. 

"You  can  go  to  the  probate  judge  and  get 
a  license,  and  make  me  marry  the  girl — that's 
what." 

I  let  out  a  little  giggle — and  clapped  a  hand 
over  my  mouth;  then  listened  eagerly  for 
Mr.  Ned's  response. 

"  I  can,  can  I?  "  he  growled. 

"Sure!"  chuckled  the  father.  "I'm  ready 
to  marry  her  at  any  time." 

"And  no  doubt  you're  egotist  enough  to 
think  she's  ready  to  marry  you — eh?" 

"I  don't  know," — gurgling  and  sputtering; 
—"she  doesn't  act  averse  to  my  company, 
my  attentions,  as  you  may  have  noticed." 
The  vain  old  coxcomb!  I  felt  like  rushing  in 
and  slapping  his  face! — "At  any  rate,  as  I 
said,  I'm  quite  ready  to  marry  her." 

"You're  too  damn — entirely  too  ready  to 
marry  her!"  Mr.  Ned  muttered  wrathfully. 

226 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Mr.  Durbin  could  no  longer  restrain  his 
merriment;  he  whooped  right  out  loud,  and 
stamped  the  floor  and  coughed.  I  had  to 
stuff  my  handkerchief  in  my  mouth  to  keep 
from  giving  vocal  utterance  to  the  glee  that 
was  effervescing  and  bubbling  within  me.  I 
heard  Mr.  Ned  get  upon  his  feet,  and  say  with 
grave  and  proper  dignity : 

"It  appears  there's  little  use  in  talking  to 
you,  father;  you're  hopeless.  I— 

I  realized  that  the  curtain  was  about  to  fall 
upon  the  little  one-act  farce-comedy  that  I 
had  been  witnessing — with  my  ears  alone; 
and  I  made  a  quick  and  noiseless  retreat. 
You'll  think  me  awful,  Nell  mine — I  know 
you  will ;  but  you'll  have  to  admit  that  I  still 
possess  the  virtue  of  candor — when  I'm  per- 
mitted to  choose  the  subject,  occasion  and 
confidant ! — and  that  courage  still  abides  with 
me,  or  I  couldn't  make  the  confession  I  have. 

Both  my  employers  were  a  little  glum  the 
next  forenoon.  However,  in  the  temporary 
absence  of  the  junior  member,  the  senior 
remarked  to  me: 

"Madame  Schumann-Heink  sings  at  the 
Great  Southern  to-morrow  night.  Of  course 

227 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

you're  going  to  hear  her,  Miss  Grimes — eh?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I'll  go  or  not,"  I 
returned  carelessly  but  candidly;  "I  know 
so  little  about  music." 

You  remember  I've  got  Quaker  blood  in  me, 
Nell;  and,  in  consequence,  don't  care  for 
music  as  I  should. 

"  Oh,  you  must  go,  Miss  Grimes ! "  Mr.  Dur- 
bin  cried,  in  astonishment  not  unmixed  with 
dismay.  "Indeed  you  must  go.  Why,  it'll 
be  great,  grand,  sublime,  a  perfect  artistic 
triumph  and  treat.  You  mustn't  think  of 
missing  it;  it's  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime— 
the  chance  to  hear  Madame  Schumann-Heink 
is.  You'll  enjoy  it — never  fear;  I  know 
you've  the  artistic  temperament,  even  if  you 
don't  know  much  of  music.  And  I  happen 
to  recall  right  now  I  have  two  tickets;  and 
I'd  be  delighted  to  have  you  go  with  me — if 
you  will." 

"Why,  I— I  don't  hardly  know,  Mr.  Dur- 
bin,"  I  said  hesitatingly;  "I — I— 

"Of  course  you  will,"  he  interrupted 
cheerily.  "Say  you  will." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will — since  you  already  have 
two  tickets." 

228 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

The  old  fellow  was  flattered.  He  thought 
his  native  eloquence,  his  persuasive  powers, 
had  brought  me  round ;  and  he  sat  and  plumed 
himself  in  great  complacency. 

That  very  evening  I  descended  in  the  eleva- 
tor— how  paradoxical  it  sounds,  Nell,  to  say 
"descended  in  the  elevator!"  —with  Mr.  Ned; 
and  he  remarked: 

"Madame  Schumann-Heink  and  her  com- 
pany are  to  be  at  the  Great  Southern  to- 
morrow night,  Miss  Grimes." 

"Yes,"  I  answered — a  little  quaver  in  my 
voice  and  a  little  quiver  in  my  heart.  I  felt  cer- 
tain I  knew  what  further  he  was  going  to  say. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  nodding;  "and  won't 
you  grant  me  the  pleasure  of  taking  you  to 
hear  her,  Miss  Grimes — Miss  Dawes?" 

There  it  was — as  I  had  expected;  and  I 
was  just  sick!  And  I  had  promised  Mr.  Dur- 
bin!  Pshaw!  I  wanted  to  stamp;  I  wanted 
to  cry.  I  was  so  upset!  Why  was  the  father 
so  previous  and  precipitate;  and  why  was 
the  son  so  dilatory  and  deliberate?  Pshaw! 
And  again — pshaw! 

Mr.  Ned  noticed  the  perplexed  and  puckered 
frown  upon  my  face,  and  said : 

229 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  go,  Marj — Miss 
Dawes?  Wouldn't  you  like  to  hear  the  great 
Schumann-Heink?  " 

Then  the  humor  of  the  dilemma  irresistibly 
appealed  to  my  sense  of  the  nonsensical — and 
the  thought  came  to  me  that  Mr.  Ned  deserved 
to  be  punished  just  a  mite  for  his  inexcusable 
delay  in  making  his  request;  and  I  smiled 
brightly,  sweetly,  and  replied: 

"I  am  going  to  hear  Madame  Schumann- 
Heink,  Mr.  Ned." 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  consent  to  go 
with  me?"  he  inquired,  eagerly,  I  fancied. 

"N— o,"  I  drawled  coquettishly,  "I'd  like 
to  go  with  you,  ever  so  much  but — but  I 
can't." 

"  Can't?  "—sharply,  explosively.—"  Why?  " 

"  I've  — I've  promised  to  go  with  somebody 
else." 

"Oh!" — a  mere  angry  grunt. 

"Yes," — very,  very  sweetly. 

Then,  following  a  momentary  hesitation, 
he  said: 

"  I  meant  to  ask  you  yesterday,  but  forgot." 

Forgot!  Well,  Nell  Adams,  I  was  furious! 
Forgot!  I'd  rather  be  scorned  than  forgotten, 

230 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

any  day  in  the  week — wouldn't  you?  So  I 
turned  my  face  from  him,  pouting. 

We  were  just  stepping  out  upon  the  street; 
and  I  heard  my  companion  saying,  in  a  tone 
of  real  or  well-assumed  disappointment: 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  really  greatly  disappointed, 
that  you're  to  have  other  company.  May  I 
inquire  the  name  of — of  the  lucky  fellow?" 

"Your  father,"  I  answered,  without  looking 
at  him. 

"Humph!"  he  snorted  angrily,  contemptu- 
ously. 

Then, — the  big  ungallant,  ill-tempered  bear! 
— he  whirled  and  walked  away,  leaving  me 
standing  there,  waiting  for  my  car. 

And  I  was  disappointed,  vexed,  hurt,  chum 
mine — I  couldn't  hardly  tell  why;  and  when 
I  got  to  my  room  I  had  a  good  cry. 

Of  course  I  went  to  hear  the  great  Schu- 
mann-Heink;  but  I  didn't  enjoy  the  per- 
formance a  bit — not  a  bit.  I  was  out  of  sorts, 
someway;  and  I  wasn't  nice  at  all  to  Mr. 
Durbin — the  poor  old  fellow!  In  fact  I  was 
really  quite  rude  with  him,  I  fear;  but  he 
pretended  not  to  notice,  and  was  all  suavity 
and  graciousness.  I  ought  to  have  been 

231 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

ashamed;  and  I  was  ashamed  later  that 
night — and  took  another  good  cry. 

Then  Mr.  Ned  had  a  spell  of  the  sulks  that 
lasted  several  days;  and  I  was  miserable.  I 
don't  know  why  I  should  have  been,  exactly — 
now  that  I  think  the  thing  over;  but  I  was. 
I  guess  I  must  have  been  sorry  Mr.  Ned  was 
so  sad. 

But  at  the  end  of  about  three  days  some- 
thing happened  that  brought  bloom  to  my 
cheeks  and  balm  to  my  heart.  Mr.  Ned,  bend- 
ing over  my  desk  and  examining  some  work  I 
had  done,  looked  up  suddenly  and  asked  me 
a  question;  and,  absent-mindedly,  he  called 
me  "Marjory."  I  fairly  jumped;  and  so  did 
he — for  his  father  was  in  the  room.  Then  I 
blushed  and  smiled,  and  he  smiled  and  got 
red  of  face;  and  both  of  us  looked  anxiously 
toward  Mr.  Durbin.  But  that  dear  and  ac- 
commodating old  man  was  intent  about  his 
business.  A  half-minute  later  I  was  making 
my  typewriter  fairly  dance,  and  Mr.  Ned  had 
gone  to  the  outer  office — whistling  happily. 

"W — e — 11,"  drawled  Mr.  Durbin,  whirling 
about  in  his  chair  and  eyeing  me — suspi- 
ciously, I  feared  and  fancied. 

232 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Then  he  got  upon  his  feet  and  tiptoed  across 
the  floor  and  closed  the  door,  and  came  and 
leaned  on  my  desk. 

"What  do  you  think?"  he  whispered  mys- 
teriously. 

"Think?"— and  I  stared  hard  at  him, 
trying  to  read  his  face — striving  to  learn  what 
he  had  in  mind. — "Think  about  what,  Mr. 
Durbin?" 

"About  Ned's  quick  recovery?" 

"His  recovery?" 

"Yes;  recovery  from  his  attack  of  dumps." 

"Oh!" 

"Uh-huh.  What  do  you  think  about  it — 
about  what  cured  him?" 

I  was  nervous,  concerned.  Had  the  sharp- 
eared  old  fellow  overheard  his  son  call  me 
Marjory? 

"I — I  don't  know  what  to  think,  I — I' 
guess,"  I  faltered  in  reply  to  his  reiterated 
question. 

"I  think  you  cured  him,"  my  companion 
chuckled. 

"Yes?"  —I  didn't  know  what  else  to  say. 

"Y-e-s," — teeheeing  and  cackling, — "you 
must  have  said  something  awfully  nice  to 

233 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

him;  he  came  in  moping  and  mooning,  and  he 
went  out  whisking  and  whistling." 

He  paused  to  get  his  breath;  then  he  con- 
tinued, bobbing  his  head  and  gurgling  down 
deep  in  his  throat,  till  the  bunches  of  funny 
fuzzy  hair  around  his  ears  quivered  and 
danced  in  rhythmic  sympathy: 

"Yes,  you  cured  him;  case  of  similia  si- 
mttibus  curantur,  I  guess — eh?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Mr.  Durbin," 
— which  was  quite  true. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do!" — grinning  cherubically. 
— "You  threw  him  into  an  attack  of  the 
dumps,  by  going  to  the  opera  with  me; 
and  then  you  cured  him  by  smiling  upon 
him." 

"Why,  Mr.  Durbin!"  I  exclaimed  in  genuine 
astonishment  and  confusion.  His  ready  dis- 
cernment was  surprising. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  he  went  on,  sobering. 
"He's  jealous  of  me;  and  he  couldn't  and 
wouldn't  be  jealous  of  me,  if  he  wasn't  in  love 
with  you.  Now!"  —triumphantly. 

I  couldn't  say  a  word,  my  dear  Nell;  I 
could  only  sit  and  stare,  dumbfounded.  And 
my  speechless  embarrassment  so  tickled  the  old 

234 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

pest,  that  he  immediately  went  into  a  spasm — 
no,  a  series  of  spasms ! — of  hilarity.  When  he 
saw  that  I  was  recovering  and  about  to  say 
something — something  caustic,  I  can  tell  you 
Nell !  —  he  instantly  controlled  himself  and, 
holding  up  a  warning  finger,  said  impressively : 
"Wait  a  moment,  Miss  Grimes;  I'm  not 
quite  through.  Ned  don't  know  he's  in  love 
with  you,  but  /do;  I  know  the  symptoms 
of  the  malady — you  bet!  And  you're  in  love 
with  him." — The  impudent  old  wretch!  I 
bridled  instantly. — "There,  there!  Maybe 
you  don't  realize  it,  but  you  are.  Young  folks 
seldom  do  recognize  the  insidious  complaint, 
till  their  cases  are  hopeless.  But," — shaking 
his  head  and  grinning  like  a  mesmerized 
gargoyle, — "what  you've  done  to  that  boy 
of  mine  is  simply  wonderful,  marvelous.  He's 
never  been  in  love  with  a  bundle  of  femi- 
ninity before  in  his  life," — I  wished  I  could 
believe  his  positive  statement  as  very  truth, 
Nell;  but  I  lacked  the  faith! — "but  he's  a 
goner  now;  7  can  see  it.  And  all  you'll  have 
to  do  to  keep  him  in  love  with  you,  Miss 
Grimes — you  do  want  to  keep  him  in  love 
with  you,  don't  you?" 

235 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Why — why,  Mr.  Durbin!"  I  gasped, 
startled.  "  Such  a  question ! " 

"Well,  it  is  rather  a  silly  question,"  he 
teeheed.  "Of  course  you  want  to  keep  him 
in  love  with  you — whether  you  care  for  him 
or  not;  you  wouldn't  be  a  woman,  if  you 
didn't  want  to.  But  I  know  you  do  care  for 
Ned — no — no!  Don't  say  a  word  in  contra- 
diction of  my  statement;  I  know  you  do. 
And  now  listen  to  me;  listen!" — very  im- 
pressively, very  gravely. — "I'm  an  old  man 
— old  enough  to  be  your  father;  and  nothing 
would  please  me  more  than  to  be  your  father. 
No — no,  don't  say  a  word!  I  admire  you,  I 
like  you,  enjoy  your  company  and  love  to  have 
you  near  me,  and  all  that;  but  I'm  not  quite 
such  a  fool  as  to  expect — or  desire,  really — 
you  to  feel  that  way  toward  me.  I'm  not 
quite  such  a  fool  as  that,  Miss  Grimes;  but  I 
rub  the  mark.  Wait — wait!  I'm  almost 
through.  I've  been  wanting  Ned  to  fall  in 
love;  and  I'm  tickled  to  death  that  he's 
fallen  in  love  with  you.  Just  a  moment — just 
a  moment!  I  want  him  to  marry;  and  I  want 
him  to  marry  you.  My  plans  and  schemes  are 
working  out  all'  right.  But  here's  a  bit  of 

236 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

advice  in  the  shape  of  a  bit  of  wisdom:  the 
thing  a  man  always  wants  and  is  determined 
to  have  is  the  thing  he  thinks  he  can't  get. 
Understand?  Catch  on?  Well,  all  right,  then." 
— I  must  have  nodded,  Nell;  but  I  wasn't 
aware  of  it. — "Now,  we  must  keep  Ned  hot 
on  the  trail — you  and  I;  and  the  very  way 
to  do  it  is  to  keep  him  uneasy,  anxious,  in  a 
stew.  See?  Yes — all  right,  then.  And  our 
plan  '11  be  to  go  on  just  as  we're  going,  only — 
only — we'll  pay  just  a  little  more  attention  to 
each  other.  Can  I  depend  upon  you;  will 
you  join  me  in  the  scheme?  Good!  All 
right!" — Nell  Adams,  I  know  I  hadn't  nodded 
a  nod  or  winked  a  wink! — "That's  settled, 
then.  And  don't  weaken;  don't  get  soft- 
hearted— and  begin  to  pity  the  big  dolt.  If 
you  do,  you  may  lose  him.  I  know  men. 
Besides  Ned's  been  so  uppish,  so  scornful  and 
cantankerous,  that  he  deserves  a  taste  of  a 
purgatory  of  pain  before  he  enters  into  a 
paradise  of  bliss — with  such  a  girl  as  you." — 
The  dear  poetical  old  chap! — "There — that's 
all.  Now,  Miss  Grimes,  will  you  shake?  " 
And  we  shook! 


237 


XL 


FROM  that  time  on,  Nell  darling,  there  was 
something  doing  daily  in  and  about  the  real- 
estate  offices  of  Durbin  and  Son.  The  more 
chummy  and  chuckly  Mr.  Durbin  became,  the 
more  giddy  and  giggly  I  made  myself;  and 
the  more  frantic  and  furious  Mr.  Ned  grew. 
Poor  boy!  It  was  cruel;  he  must  have  suf- 
fered dreadfully.  I  pitied  him  at  times,  but  I 
held  firm.  However,  I  think  his  suffering  was 
as  nothing  compared  with  that  of  the  flock 
of  carrion  crows  in  the  outer  office.  Oh,  how 
they  did  want  to  flap  their  wings  and  peck 
and  caw — and  didn't  dare  to!  Not  a  croak  did 
they  utter.  If  they  talked  about  their  em- 
ployers and  me,  they  must  have  hired  a  hall 
somewhere  to  do  it  in;  at  any  rate,  they  didn't 
do  it  about  the  office. 

Occasionally  I  went  to  a  play  or  other  enter- 
tainment with  the  junior  member  of  the  firm; 
and  then  he  was  'delighted,  apparently — and 
so  was  I,  undoubtedly.  But  more  frequently 
by  far, — to  the  junior's  chagrin  and  my 

238 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

disappointment! — the  senior  anticipated  the 
junior's  good  intentions.  Heighho!  But 
things  were  at  sixes  and  sevens  in  that  hive 
of  industry ;  and  all  on  account  of  the  advent 
of  a  little  tousle-haired,  gray-eyed  queen! 
Now,  grin,  you  dear  old  chum! 

Summer  went  and  autumn  came;  and  the 
hours  were  rosy — like  the  changing  foliage. 
Sometimes  my  hopes  soared  aloft  with  the 
airy  thistledown;  and  again  they  sank  to 
earth  with  the  falling  leaves — to  be  trampled 
under  foot.  Part  of  the  time  I  tripped  over  the 
hills  of  delight,  and  part  of  the  time  I  trudged 
through  the  valleys  of  despair;  but  Mr.  Dur- 
bin  stood  tiptoe  upon  the  mountain-tops  of 
ecstasy  and  glory  all  the  time — and  flapped 
his  arms  and  crew. 

One  day  Mr.  Ned  said  to  me — very,  very 
soberly : 

"Marjory," — he  was  calling  me  by  my 
Christian  name,  by  that  time,  when  he  wasn't 
too  huffy  with  me  to  call  me  anything ! — "  will 
you  answer  me  a  question?" 

Oo — h!  Was  he  going  to  propose — in  such 
a  sudden  and  offhand  way?  My  heart  flitter- 
fluttered  so  tunmltuously,  so  deliciously,  that 

239 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  could  barely  murmur — my  eyes  demurely 
dropped : 

"If— if  I  can,  Ned,— Mr.  Ned." 

"You  can," — solemnly,  almost  funereally. 

Oo — h !    It  was  coming ! 

"I  will,  then,"  I  breathed  softly. 

"Why  do  you  persist  in  carrying  on  with 
father,  as  you  do?" 

Stuff!  I  was  so  disappointed  I  was  almost 
ready  to  cry.  Such  a  silly  question — and 
when  I  thought  him  on  the  point  of  propos- 
ing! Surely  men  are  the  dumbest  things,  Nell 
Adams — especially  young  men  who  are  in  love 
and  aren't  fully  conscious  of  their  condition 
or  their  opportunities!  Such  reflections  made 
me  wrothy! 

"  Why  do  I  persist  in  carrying  on  with  your 
father?"  I  snapped. 

He  nodded,  his  eyes  half-shut. 

"I  don't,"  I  fibbed. 

"But  you  do." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  ' carrying  on?J"  I 
demanded  haughtily. 

"You  know,  Marjory." 

"I  don't!"  I  cried.    "I  don't!" 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  said." 

240 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Well?" 

"  I  mean  you  persist  in  flirting  with  father." 

"  Oh ! "  I  laughed  mirthlessly.  "  But  maybe 
I  don't  flirt  with  him." 

He  gave  me  a  searching  look ;  then  he  mut- 
tered thickly: 

"Maybe  you  don't — that's  so"; — and,  oh, 
Nell,  I  began  to  tremble  with  fear  that  the 
thick-pated  fellow  was  going  to  take  my  rash 
hint  in  earnest! — "but  /  think  you  do." 
— Again  I  could  get  a  full  breath! — "Yes,  you 
flirt  with  him,  Marjory;  and  you  permit  him 
— no,  you  encourage  him — to  make  a  spectacle 
of  himself,  an  old  fool  of  himself.  And  you 
don't  care  for  him — not  a  mite." 

"Think  not? "— teasingly . 

"  I  know  you  don't." 

Well,  then,  why  was  he  always  stewing  so 
over  the  matter?  I  couldn't  understand. 

"Maybe  I  do,  though,"  I  persisted  per- 
versely. 

"All  right — maybe  you  do,  then;  have  your 
way." 

And  he  got  up  and  flung  himself  out  of  the 
room. 

I  saw  that  I  had  gone  too  far,  old  chum; 

241 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and  I  was  properly  worried — and  properly 
punished.  All  that  week  he  gave  me  scant 
attention  and  scanter  courtesy,  speaking  to 
me  only  when  he  couldn't  avoid  it;  and  I  lost 
all  faith  in  Mr.  Durbin  and  his  silly  schemes 
and  plans  for  subduing  and  winning  his 
savage  son — and  was  so  cross  to  the  old  chap 
I  must  have  made  his  fleeting  days  miserable. 
Life  wasn't  a  grand  sweet  song  all  the  time, 
Nell — not  by  an  appreciable  per  cent.  Part 
of  the  time  it  was  antic,  frantic  ragtime ;  and 
the  rest  of  the  time  it  was  a  dolesome,  unwhole- 
some funeral  march. 

One  day,  near  the  end  of  that  memorable 
week,  Mr.  Durbin  sprung  a  surprise  on  me 
that  was  a  surprise.  On  returning  from  lunch 
I  found  him  alone  in  the  inner  room,  teetering 
back  and  forth  in  his  pivot  chair,  swinging  his 
feet,  twiddling  his  thumbs — and  grinning  like 
a  Sozodont  girl. 

"Hoho!"  he  cried,  laughingly,  explosively, 
as  I  came  in  the  door. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  I  demanded, 
pettishly  stamping. 

"Nothing  at  all,   Miss  Marjory  Dawes!" 

What?    Had  I  heard  aright — or  was  my 

242 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

inner  consciousness  playing  tricks  with  me? 
Had  my  skirts  become  unfastened  and  fallen 
about  my  feet,  I  could  not  have  been  more 
disconcerted.  Marjory  Dawes!  Was  I  awake 
or  dreaming;  sane  or  silly?  I  stood  staring 
vacantly  at  my  grinning  companion,  till  he 
aroused  me  with : 

"It  surprises  you  that  I  know  your  real 
name,  doesn't  it,  Miss  Dawes?" 

"A  little/ '  I  admitted  faintly.  Then,  in  a 
measure  recovering  my  equanimity:  "Who 
told  you?" 

"Guess," — manifesting  infinite  enjoyment. 

"Mr.  Ned." 

"  Y-e-s,  he  did  and  he  didn't." 

"Explain,  Mr.  Durbin." 

I  had  removed  my  hat  and  my  wrap  and 
was  rearranging  things  upon  my  desk. 

"W-e-1-1,"— gleefully,  childishly,—  "  I  sus- 
pected your  real  name  that  day  Ned  brought 
in  the  paper  telling  about  your  eloping  with  the 
old  colonel"; — who  would  have  thought  it, 
Nell  mine — that  old  Foxy  Grandpa  could  be 
so  shrewd,  so  secretive? — "but  I  became  sat- 
isfied of  the  truth  of  my  guess  just  a  few 
minutes  ago." 

243 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes." 

"How?" 

"Go  over  and  look  at  the  blotter  on  Ned's 
desk." 

And  then  he  went  into  the  worst  spell  of 
the  hysterical  risibilities  I  ever  saw  him 
have. 

Wondering  what  I  was  to  see,  I  walked  over 
to  Mr.  Ned's  desk.  My  eyes  fell  upon  his 
blotter — and  horror  of  horrors!  He  had 
scribbled  all  over  it,  in  pencil — absent-mind- 
edly, of  course: 

"Marjory  Dawes,  Miss  Marjory  Dawes, 
Marjie,  Marjory,  Marjory  Dawes." 

And  down  in  an  obscure  corner — but  stand- 
ing out  as  if  emblazoned  in  letters  of  blood 
and  flame,  Nell — "Marjory  Dawes  Durbin!" 

I  fairly  gasped  at  the  unexampled  audacity, 
the  unmitigated  juvenility,  of  the  thing;  and 
Mr.  Durbin  watched  me — and  squirmed  and 
twisted,  and  wheezed  and  whooped. 

"So  you  see  Ned  did  tell  me,"  he  cried, 
clapping  his  hands  and  knocking  his  heels 
together;  "and  you  see,  too,  that  he's  a 
goner." 

244 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"A  goner?"  I  queried,  dropping  into  my 
chair. 

"Yes;  he's  dead  gone  on  you." 

"Why,  Mr.  Durbin,  how  inelegant!"  I 
exclaimed. 

"But  how  expressive — and  how  true,"  he 
teeheed. 

"I'm  afraid  he's  gone  from  me,"  I  said 
gloomily. 

"What  makes  you  say  that?" 

"Because  I  think  it." 

"  And  what  makes  you  think  it? " 

"  The  way  he  acts  toward  me ;  he's  so  cold, 
so  distant — doesn't  pay  any  attention  to  me, 
hardly." 

"Nonsense!" — snapping  his  fingers  supe- 
riorly, contemptuously.  "  That's  just  a  man's 
way:  he's  just  pouting.  No — no!  He'll  come 
around  all  right.  Has  he  asked  you  to  go  to 
the  play  with  him  to-night?" 

I  thought  he  asked  this  question  a  little 
anxiously. 

"No,  he  hasn't,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  I'll  ask  you  to  go  with  me,  then. 
But  if  he  does  ask  you,  you'd  better  go  with 
him,  I — I  guess;  yes,  I  think  you  had.  Maybe 

245 


we'd  better  not  push  him  too  far — right  now, 
anyhow." — Then,  abruptly: 

"Say!" 

"What?"  I  queried. 

"Ned  knew  you  weren't  Miss  Grimes  the 
first  day  he  saw  you  in  the  office,  of  course, 
didn't  he?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"Well,  why  didn't  he  say  something — 
expose  you,  eh?  And  what  brought  you  here 
— to  palm  yourself  off  as  Miss  Grimes?  Tell 
me  all  about  it." 

I  complied  with  his  request,  told  him  every- 
thing; and  his  delight  was  unbounded — was 
a  revelation  in  the  way  of  giggling  gymnastics 
and  chuckling  calisthenics. 

Mr.  Ned  was  in  the  office  just  once  that  day; 
and  he  didn't  ask  me  to  go  to  the  play  with 
him.  And  when  the  father  and  I  took  our 
seats  in  the  dress  circle  that  night,  there  sat 
the  son, — directly  in  front  of  us! — with  a 
beautiful  young  woman  at  his  side.  She  was 
beautiful,  I  admit  it,  Nell  mine;  — and  that's 
a  great  condescension  for  me! — and  I  was  so 
blinded  by  the  kaleidoscopic  and  devilish 
antics  of  the  green  god  of  jealousy,  and  so 

246 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

deafened  by  the  taunts  and  flings  and  gibes 
and  jeers  the  little  verdant  imp  shrilled  into 
my  ears,  that  I  couldn't  see  the  actors  or  hear 
a  word  they  said.  I  looked  at  Mr.  Durbin— 
the  old  bungler! — and  he  looked  at  me,  wag- 
ging his  head  like  an  imbecile  paralytic. 

"Who  is  she?"  I  murmured  cautiously. 

"Miss  Frances  Garland,"  my  companion 
whispered  in  reply,  "daughter  of  John  Gar- 
land of  the  Capital  City  Electric  Supply 
Company;  her  father's  very  wealthy." 

'Twas  then  the  iron  entered  my  soul,  Nell 
Adams  of  other  days!  She  was  the  daughter 
of  a  wealthy  man;  I  was  an  orphan  and  a 
beggar.  She  was  beautiful,  and  tall  and  wil- 
lowy; I  was  just  pretty,  and  short  and  grace- 
less. She  was  elegantly  and  faultlessly  gowned ; 
I  was  dowdy — just  dowdy! — compared  with 
her.  Oh,  the  comparison  hurt,  I  can  tell  you ! 
And  I  wanted  to  die;  and  I  resolved  to  die — 
just  as  soon  as  I  could  determine  on  a  nice 
easy  way  of  doing  the  thing!  But,  no — I 
wouldn't  die  for  a  little  while!  I  must  settle 
accounts  with  Foxy  Grandpa  first !  Of  course 
I'd  kill  him!  But  how?  What  sort  of  death 
would  be  fit  punishment  for  his  crime — his 

247 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

many  crimes?  And  I  sat  the  play  out,  in  un- 
seeing, unhearing,  unspeaking  silence — in  the 
blue-black  gloom  of  despair  and  hate  and 
revenge ! 

When  the  curtain  had  fallen  upon  the  last 
act  of  the  miserable  and  monstrous  melo- 
drama, my  escort  and  I  gloomily  arose  to  make 
our  way  out.  Then  it  was  Mr.  Ned  first  be- 
came aware  of  our  presence,  apparently.  I 
believe  he  knew  we  were  there  all  the  time, 
Nell,  for  I  caught  him  slyly  squinting  over 
his  shoulder  more  than  once — I'm  sure  I  did, 
almost;  but  he  pretended  to  be  so  absorbed 
in  the  princess-like  Miss  Garland  and  her  fas- 
cinating talk,  that  he  couldn't  see  or  hear 
anybody  or  anything  else.  The  mean  thing! 

But  just  as  we  arose  he  slowly  turned 
around,  gave  a  well-feigned  start  and  said : 

"  Why,  Miss  Daw — hem ! — Miss  Grimes,  you 
here — and  father,  too?  You  two  must  have 
been  completely  absorbed  in  the  play — or  in 
each  other's  company"; — oh,  but  I  wanted 
to  scream  and  scratch,  Nell  Adams! — "you 
kept  so  still.  Miss  Grimes,  permit  me  to  pre- 
sent Miss  Garland;  father,  you  know  Miss 
Garland,  of  course." 

248 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Miss  Garland  smiled  and  murmured  my 
name  and  gracefully  inclined  her  tall  and 
willowy  form;  and  I  smirked  a  frozen  smirk 
and  muttered  her  name  and  bobbed  stiffly. 
I  couldn't  help  being  rude;  and  Mr.  Ned 
looked  on  amused — I  just  know  he  was 
amused,  Nell ! — the  corners  of  his  big  mouth 
twitching. 

"Did  you  enjoy  the  play?"  he  asked  heart- 
lessly. 

I  didn't  answer  him,  I  didn't  dare  to  try 
to  answer  him.  I  believe  I  should  have  burst 
out  weeping  and  wailing  right  there.  But 
Mr.  Durbin — he  thought  he  was  coming  to 
my  rescue,  the  dear  kind-hearted  old  briggler! 
—tittered  in  mock  gleefulness: 

"Oh,  yes!  Yes,  indeed;  we  enjoyed  it 
immensely." 

"Well,"  Mr.  Ned  went  on  forcing  the  con- 
versation, "Miss  Garland  and  I  are  going 
down  to  Paff's  to  have  supper.  Won't  you 
go  along  with  us — you  two?" 

Again  I  remained  silent. 

"Yes,  do  come  with  us,"  Miss  Garland 
murmured. 

"Will  we  go  with  them,  Miss  Daw— ahem! 

249 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

—Miss  Grimes?"  Mr.  Durbin  said  pityingly, 
caressingly,  bending  toward  me. 

I  saw  Mr.  Ned  give  a  start  and  glare  at  his 
father;  and,  sad  as  I  was,  Nell,  I  came  near 
letting  out  a  little  giggle. 

"Will  we  go?"  Mr.  Durbin  repeated. 

"No!"  I  replied  snappishly.  "I've  got  a 
headache," — and  I  did  have  one;  and  a 
heartache,  too! — "and  I  don't  care  to  stay 
out  any  longer." 

"All  right,"  Mr.  Ned  smiled,  giving  Miss 
Garland  a  meaningful  glance  which  she  was 
quick  to  return,  "we'll  sup  together  some 
other  time,  then.  Good  night." 

Out  on  the  street,  in  the  frosty  air  and  the 
dappled  shadow  and  sheen  of  the  arc  lights, 
I  hurried  along  like  mad,  almost  forcing  my 
escort  to  break  into  a  trot  to  keep  up  with  me. 

"  Why  such  a  rush,  Miss  Dawes?  "  he  panted. 
" Hadn't  we  better  take  a  car — eh?" 

"No,"  was  my  monosyllabic  and  crusty 
response. 

"Well,  why — why  are  you — you  hurrying 
so?"  he  puffed. 

"Because  I  want  to  get  to  my  room,  that's 
why." 

250 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"  Oh!" — as  much  a  groan  as  a  reply. 

"Yes.  And  you  needn't  accompany  me; 
I  can  go  alone." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  think  of  permitting  you 
to  do  that ! "  he  gasped.  "  No,  indeed ! " 

Then  I  relented — just  a  little! — and  slowed 
down. 

"You're  out  of  sorts  to-night,  Miss  Dawes," 
he  wheezed. 

"Ami?" 

"Aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  lam." 

"Have — have  /  done  anything  to — to  dis- 
please you?" — anxiously,  meekly. 

"Yes,  you  have." 

"What  —  why  —  what,  may  I  ask,  Miss 
Dawes?" 

"Everything!"  I  burst  forth.  "You've 
bungled  everything — that's  what  you've  done; 
and  I'm  disgusted  with  you  and  all  your 
idiotic  plans  and  schemes.  You  assured  me 
that  Ned — Mr.  Ned — liked  me;  and  told  me 
the  way  to  win  him  was  to — to — well,  to  flirt 
with  you — that's  what  you  did.  And  now  he 
doesn't  care  for  me  at  all — and  I  don't  think 
he  ever  did  care  for  me;  and  he's  taken  up 

251 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

with  Miss  Garland,  and  she's  beautiful  and 
rich,  and  I'm  homely  and  poor,  and — and— 
oh,  dear — dear!" 

I  broke  down  and  began  to  boohoo, —  in  a 
soft  and  seemly  manner,  of  course! — and  Mr. 
Durbin  laid  a  fatherly  hand  upon  my  shoulder 
and  pleaded  soothingly: 

"There— there,  little  girl,  don't  cry!"  -I 
had  to  smile  through  my  tears,  to  hear  him 
unconsciously  quoting  Riley! — "  Every  thing 
will  come  out  all  right;  don't  get  discouraged. 
Just  remember  the  blotter  you  saw  on  his 
desk  to-day ;  keep  your  eye  and  your  mind  on 
that — and  you  won't  lose  heart.  Now,  listen; 
let  me  tell  you  something." — And  I  dried  my 
tears  and  did  listen,  warm  hope  gradually 
returning  to  my  chilled  heart! — "Ned's  trying 
the  same  game  you've  been  working;  he's 
trying  to  bring  you  round,  just  as  you've  been 
trying  to  bring  him  round.  And  you're  as 
big  a  dunce  as  he  is," — chucking  me  under 
the  chin, — "  to  let  him  see  that  you  care.  Now 
the  time's  come  for  us  to  change  our  game— 
a  mite.  He's  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I'm 
not  dangerous  to  his  prospects.  See?  And 
now  he  thinks  he'll  punish  you  a  little  bit,  by 

252 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

paying  his  attentions  to  Miss  Garland.  Under- 
stand?" —I  nodded,  and  gently  pressed  his 
arm. — "Well,  here's  the  thing  to  do  now — 
and  the  only  thing:  you  must  catch  another 
fellow.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"I — I  guess  so,"  I  cooed,  a  half-sob  in  my 
voice.  "But  what  good  will  that  do?" 

"  It'll  bring  Ned  back  to  you — in  a  hurry." 

"Do  you  really  think  it  will?," 

"Of  course  it  will." 

My  own  intuition  told  me  it  would,  Nell; 
but  I  could  not  refrain  from  saying: 

"Sure,  Mr.  Durbin?" 

"Dead  sure," — with  all  the  unction  and 
assurance  imaginable. 

"But  maybe  he  likes  Miss  Garland,"  I 
objected. 

"No,  he  doesn't,"  the  old  gentleman  replied 
quickly,  "  I  know  he  doesn't.  The  only  thing 
that  puzzles  me  about  the  whole  thing  is 
that  Ned  should  pay  any  attention  to  any 
woman;  I  know  he  never  has  before.  He's 
got  at  it  all  at  once;  but  he  seems  to  be 
making  up  for  lost  time  and  opportunities,  I 
must  say." 

I  had  to  cough  to  smother  a  giggle. 

253 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"And  you  think  if  I  get  another — another 
beau,  it  will — will— 

"It'll  fix  everything,"  he  interrupted. 

"Then,"  I  said  resolutely,  "  I'll  have  another 
young  man  enamored  of  me  before  the  week 
ends." 

I  spoke  so  confidently,  sweet  Nell,  because 
I  knew  just  what  I  was  going  to  do — and  how 
I  was  going  to  do  it.  My  landlady  had  a 
nephew,  a  Mr.  Morse  who  worked  in  the  offices 
of  the  Mondarun  Coal  Company, — a  most 
despisable,  cigarette-smoking  little  dude!— 
and  he  had  shown  a  decided  desire  to  make 
himself  agreeable  to  me.  Hitherto  I  had 
snubbed  him  unmercifully;  but  now  I  meant 
to  smile  on  him  divinely.  I  needed  him  in 
my  business,  Nell! 

Well,  to  be  brief  for  just  once  in  my  life, 
things  worked  out  as  I  planned ;  that  is,  they 
worked  out  to  an  extent,  as  I  planned.  The 
next  Sunday  evening  found  Mr.  Morse  and 
me  at  the  Congregational  church  on  East 
Broad  street.  I  had  ascertained  in  advance, 
by  the  help  of  Mr.  Durbin,  that  Mr.  Ned  and 
Miss  Garland  would  worship  on  that  particular 
evening  at  that  particular  church.  So  I  was 

254 


not  at  all  surprised  to  see  them  as  soon  as  my 
escort  and  I  entered  the  edifice,  threading  the 
aisle  just  ahead  of  us;  and,  by  wasting  a  little 
cajolery  upon  the  impressionable  usher,  I 
managed  to  be  seated  near  them — in  direct 
line  of  their  vision.  Then,  when  I  saw  that 
Mr.  Ned  and  Miss  Garland  were  aware  of  our 
presence,  I  was  satisfied — and,  for  the  mo- 
ment, very,  very  happy! 

I  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  sermon  Mr. 
Gladstone  preached,  Nell — except  it  was  a 
good  one,  of  course,  for  he  never  fails  to  preach 
acceptably,  I  understand;  I  was  too  busy 
wondering  what  Mr.  Ned  was  getting  out  of 
the  discourse — and  the  situation! — to  get 
much  out  of  it  myself.  Yes,  call  me  an 
impious  little  wretch;  I  shan't  care.  I'm  lay- 
ing my  soul  bare  at  the  confessional;  and 
I'm  going  to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth.  So  now — and 
there ! 

The  next  day  Mr.  Ned  was  all  smiles  and 
affability;  and  I  flattered  myself  that  I  had 
already  won  out — on  the  first  deal.  But  on 
the  Wednesday  night  following  he  took  Miss 
Garland  to  a  concert;  and  I  wasn't  quite  so 

255 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

cocksure  of  my  good  fortune.  And  so  things 
went  for  another  week  or  two,  Mr.  Ned  paying 
court  to  Miss  Garland  and  Mr.  Morse  paying 
court  to  me;  and  all  the  time  I  was  playing 
cross  purposes  with  my  desires;  and  Mr. 
Ned — well,  I  couldn't  tell  what  he  was  doing, 
except  that  he  was — was  hurting  me!  One 
thing  I  was  sure  of,  however;  while  Mr.  Ned 
was  kindness  itself  and  geniality  personified, 
as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  he  seemed  to  be 
edging  farther  and  farther  away  from  that 
tender  intimacy  I  so  fondly  desired.  I  got 
nervous,  cross,  and  I  snapped  him  off  when- 
ever he  spoke  to  me;  but  he — the  great  big 
admirable  but  provoking  dolt! — just  grinned 
blandly,  maddeningly,  and  wouldn't  get  out 
of  humor — simply  wouldn't.  And  I  got  to 
hating  him — I  knew  I  did;  mind,  I  don't 
say  I  know  I  did. 

One  day  Mr.  Durbin  inquired: 

"How're  things  coming  on,  Marj — Miss 
Dawes?" 

"They're  not  coming  on  at  all,"  I  replied 
peevishly. 

"No?" 

"No,  they're  not." 

256 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"What  seems  to  be  the  trouble,   Marj- 
Marjory?" 

"Nothing — only  Mr.  Ned's  in  love  with 
Miss  Garland." 

"No,  he  isn't, "—shaking  his  head  and 
grinning  broadly,  exasperatingly. 

"But  he  M." 

"No;  he's  in  love  with  you,  Marjory — dear. 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  think's  the  trouble — the 
reason  he  doesn't  pay  more  attention  to  you; 
you've  let  him  know  you  worry  over  his 
apparent  devotion  to  Miss  Garland,  and— 

"But  I  haven't  let  him  know,"  I  protested. 

"But  you  have." 

"  Why,  I've  never  said  a  word — " 

"True,"  he  interrupted,  "but  you've  let 
him  see  that  you're  worried;  and,  man-like, 
he's  gloating  over  the  fact  and  pluming  him- 
self upon  his  irresistible  prowess  as  a  lady- 
killer,  and  is  bent  on  amusing  himself  to  the 
utmost — watching  you  make  a  wry  face  at 
the  bitter  medicine  he's  giving  you.  Now, 
you  listen  to  me;  take  my  advice,  and— 

"I  have  taken  your  advice,  Mr.  Durbin,  all 
the  way  along;  and  it's  only  made  matters 


worse." 


257 


"Not  at  all — not  at  all!" — sanguinely,  com- 
placently.— "Things  're  all  right;  if  you'd 
only  think  so — and  act  accordingly." 

"Act?    How  shall  I  act?" 

"Act  as  if  you  didn't  care  a  snap  for  Ned, 
as  if  you  were  perfectly  satisfied  with  Mr. 
Morse  and  the  world  in  general,  as  if  every 
hour  were  an  open  flower  and  you  were  a 
butterfly  sipping  its  sweets — that's  how  to 
act.  Act  cheerful  and — and  saucy,  and  a 
little  devilish;  in  other  words,  just  be  your 
sweet,  natural,  fascinating  self — as  of  old. 
Then  Ned  '11  drop  that  self-satisfied  and  self- 
righteous  smirk  of  his — and  begin  to  see  things 
of  night's,  and  sit  up  and  take  notice,  and  in- 
quire where  he's  at.  I  know;  you'll  see!" 
chuckling  in  anticipatory  glee. — "It  won't  be 
two  days  till  he'll  begin  to  scratch  his  head 
and  wonder  about  the  change  in  you;  and 
he'll  end  by  trying  to  find  out  the  cause — by 
trying  to  pick  the  truth  out  of  you.  And  then, 
when  he  does  come  to  you  with  his  sly  ques- 
tions and  his  blarney,  just  you  hold  him  off 
at  arm's  length — just  you  pretend  you're 
too  happy  and  contented  to  give  him  a  mo- 
ment's time  or  thought.  That'll  fetch  him. 

258 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

You'll  win  out  that  way,  Marjory — dear; 
yes,  you  will." 

And,  as  usual,  I  believed  all  he  said,  Nell; 
and  I  felt  so  much  better,  so  relieved,  so  light- 
hearted,  that  I  hummed  a  little  tune  as  I 
resumed  my  work. 

Well,  the  result  of  my  following  Mr.  Durbin's 
suggestion  proved  the  old  fellow  a  sage  and 
a  prophet.  The  very  next  day  Mr.  Ned 
noticed  my  changed  demeanor  and  remarked 
upon  the  new  shirt-waist  I  had  donned;  the 
following  day  he  mentioned  how  well  I  was 
looking — and  gave  me  a  quizzical  look,  and 
sighed;  and  the  next  he  was  plainly  puzzled, 
amorously  anxious,  and  dolefully  down  in 
the  dumps. 

As  soon  as  opportunity  offered  he  said  to  me : 

"  You  appear  to  be  in  a  merry  mood  to-day 
— for  several  days,  in  fact — Marjory." 

"Yes?" — smiling  a  new  coquettish  smile 
I  had  been  practicing. 

"Yes;  and  you're  looking  well,  too." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Ned." 

"Oh,  the  devil!"— irritably.— "Drop  that 
mister  business.  I  call  you  Marjory;  you 
call  me  Ned — just  plain  Ned." 

259 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"All  right,  Mr.  Ned — I  mean  plain  Ned." 

Then  both  of  us  laughed. 

"Say!"  he  cried  suddenly.  "I  believe 
you're  getting  prettier  every  day." 

"  Thank  you  again — Ned.11 

I  looked  up  into  his  face,  to  find  his  keen 
eyes  fixed  upon  me — admiringly,  devouringly. 

"Hem!"  he  coughed  behind  his  hand. 
"Do  you  think  of  going  to  see  De Wolfe 
Hopper  play  'Wang'  day  after  to-morrow 
night?" 

"  I  think  of  going — yes." 

"  Will  you  go  with  me?  " 

"I  can't." 

"  Can't?  "—sharply.—"  Why?  " 

"I've  promised  to  go  with  Mr.  Morse." 

"Oh,  I  see!" — biting  his  lips. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  turn  him  down — and  let  me  take 
you." 

"No,  indeed— Ned." 

"Why  won't  you?" 

"  Why?    You  know  why  I  won't." 

"  Would  you  rather  go  with  him — that 
mealy-faced  little  dude?" 

I  kept  silent. 

260 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Say!"  he  insisted. 

"  Well,  I — I  suppose  I  would" — hesitatingly, 
prettily, — "under  the  circumstances,  any- 
how." 

"Maybe  you'd  rather  go  with  him,  under 
any  circumstances — eh?"  —plainly  piqued. 

"Oh,  I — I  don't  know!  I  don't  want  to  say 
that — I  guess;  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your 
feelings." 

He  glared  at  me  like  he'd  like  to  catch  hold 
of  me  and  crush  me. 

"Besides,"  I  went  on  smoothly  and  sweetly, 
"Miss  Garland  will  be  expecting  you  to  take 
her,  won't  she?" 

"Humph!"  he  snorted.  "Miss  Garland 
has  no  mortgage  on  me,  my  time  or  my  atten- 
tions. But  if  you  don't  want  to  go  with  me— 
why,  that  settles  it." 

And  he  whirled  around  and  left  me, —  the 
overgrown  selfish  boy ! — his  very  back  looking 
sulky. 

And,  oh,  I  was  in  an  ecstasy,  dear  old  chum! 
Ned  had  come  back  to  me,  and  humbled  him- 
self; and  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  throwing 
him  down — throwing  him  down  good  and 
hard.  But  still — still  I  was  just  a  wee  bit 

261 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

dissatisfied,  just  a  wee  bit  sad;  for  I  did  so 
desire  to  go  to  that  play  with  him! 

And  then  came  the  deluge,  Sweet  Nell  of 
Oberlin — the  end  of  all  things! 


262 


XII. 

IT  WAS  the  first  day  of  November, Thursday. 
I  arrived  at  the  office  a  few  minutes  ahead  of 
time;  and  found  Mr.  Ned  already  there  and 
in  earnest  conversation  with  a  portly  man  of 
middle  age,  with  a  pug-like  face  and  yellowish- 
green  eyes.  I  was  surprised  that  my  junior 
employer  should  be  so  early  at  his  place  of 
business:  more  surprised  that  he  had  brought 
his  traveling-bag  and  light  overcoat  with  him  ; 
and  most  surprised  that  a  stranger  should  be 
there  on  business,  at  so  unusual  an  hour. 

As  I  entered  the  inner  room,  Mr.  Ned  was 
saying: 

"Yes,  I  know  my  option  expires  at  two 
o'clock  this  afternoon;  and,  of  course,  I  can't 
ask  you  to  extend  it— 

"  I  wouldn't  do  it  if  you  did  ask  me  to,"  the 
man  interrupted  in  a  stubborn,  matter-of-fact 
tone  and  manner. 

Unheeding  my  advent,  they  went  on  talk- 
ing. Mr.  Ned  replied  to  the  stranger's  surly 
interruption : 

263 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Of  course  you  wouldn't,  Klein — I  know 
that;  but  I'm  not  asking  you  to,  remember." 

"  I  know  you're  not.  But  what  I  came  here 
for  is  to  find  out  what  you're  going  to  do. 
Are  you  going  to  take  the  property — or  not?  " 

"You'll  learn  that  at  two  o'clock  this 
afternoon." 

"But  I'd  like  to  learn  it  now," — persist- 
ently, doggedly. 

"Well,  I  can't  tell  you." 

"  Won't,  you  mean." 

"I  mean  what  I  say,  Klein — I  can't." 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"No;  I  wish  I  did.  Have  you  another 
offer?" 

"I've  given  a  second  option  on  it;  and  the 
parties  are  anxious  to  close  the  bargain." 

"I  see.    Who  are  they?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  that,  Durbin." 

"All  right.  I'm  not  overly  anxious  to 
know,  I  guess." 

"And  you  won't  say  now  whether  you'll 
take  the  property?" 

"I  can't,  I  told  you," — impatiently. 

"Well," — leaning  back  and  yawning  cav- 
ernously, — "your  last  minute  of  grace  is  up 

264 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

when  the  clock  strikes  two;  remember  that." 

"I'll  remember." 

"If  you  don't  close  by  that  time — to  the 
fraction  of  a  second,  you  don't  close  at  all." 

Mr.  Ned  made  no  reply;  and  Klein  con- 
tinued : 

"I  don't  believe  you  want  the  property  at 
all,  Durbin.  And,  if  you  don't,  why  the  devil 
don't  you  say  so — and  let  me  dicker  with  some- 
body else?" 

Again  Mr.  Ned  said  nothing;  he  simply  sat 
and  smiled.  Mr.  Klein  suddenly  sat  up 
straight  and,  knowingly  squinting  his  small 
yellowish-green  eyes,  he  grunted : 

"I  know  what  you're  holding  off  for, 
Durbin;  you  can't  fool  me.  I'm  on." 

"Well?" 

"You're  waiting  to  hear  from  the  East — 
hear  whether  the  Transylvania  Company 
decides  to  enlarge  its  freight  yards ;  you  think 
you  can  sell  to  them — if  they  do  decide  they 
want  more  room." 

"Think  so?"— smiling  blandly. 

"I  know  so,  I  tell  you"; — puckering  his 
smug  face  in  a  scowl, — "I'm  on.  You've 
got  an  option  on  a  bunch  of  lots  and  old 

265 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

shacks,  at  about  twice  what  the  bunch  is 
worth  on  an  open  market.  If  you  find  out 
you  can  treble  or  quadruple  your  money— 
by  selling  to  somebody  that  has  to  have  the 
property,  just  has  to  have  it — you'll  close 
with  me;  if  you  find  out  you  can't,  you  won't. 
And  you're  holding  off  to  the  last  minute, 
hoping  you'll  get  a  straight  tip — learn  some- 
thing certain.  You're  a  sly  fox,  Durbin; 
but  I'm  on — you  see." 

"I  see  you  are;  you're  very  astute,  Klein. 
And  what  do  you  think  the  Transylvania 
company  will  do,  eh?" 

Mr.  Klein  surlily  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  know,"  he  muttered. 

"Sure  you  don't,"  Mr.  Ned  smiled;  "but 
what  do  you  think?" 

"  I'm  not  going  to  say.  I  was  a  fool  to  give 
you  an  option  on  the  property;  and  a  double 
fool  to  give  a  second  option  to  the  other  fellows. 
I  might  have  had  the  chance  with  the  Tran- 
sylvania myself." 

"  Maybe  they  won't  decide  to  enlarge  their 
yards,  though,"  Mr.  Ned  suggested. 

"Well,"  growled  Klein,  "if  they  don't 
enlarge  'em,  neither  of  you  parties  will  take 

266 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

the  property ;  and  there  I  am — left  with  it  on 
my  hands  just  the  same  as  if  I'd  never  given 
an  option  on  it.  While  if  the  railroad  does 
enlarge  its  yards,  you  fellows  are  likely  to 
be  on  to  it — and  close  the  bargain  with  me. 
And  I've  locked  the  door  between  myself  and 
a  big  pile  of  money.  I've  only  got  one  con- 
solation, though." 

"What's  that?" 

"I  don't  really  think  the  Transylvania 
people  're  going  to  improve." 

"No?  You  said  a  moment  ago  you  didn't 
mean  to  give  me  your  opinion." 

"Well,  I  have  done  it,"  Klein  growled. 
"Anyhow,  the  thing'll  be  decided  to-night." 

"  Yes.  I  wish  my  option  ran  till  to-morrow 
at  two  o'clock." 

"But  it  doesn't," — grinning  like  a  snarling 
pug  dog. 

"No;  but  the  other  fellows'  does,  doesn't 
it?  How  long  does  theirs  run?" 

"Till  four  o'clock  this  evening." 

"That  all?  You  didn't  give  them  much  of 
an  extension  of  time  over  mine." 

"No," — a  mere  grunt. 

"How  was  that,  Klein?" 

267 


"I  got  suspicious  something  was  up — so 
many  of  you  fellows  wanting  option  on  that 
piece  of  real-estate — though  I  didn't  find  out 
what  was  up  till  yesterday;  and  so  I  just 
gave  the  new  parties  two  hours  over  you,  to 
make  up  their  minds  in." 

"  I  see.  And  you  think  they're  playing  the 
same  game  I  am,  do  you?" 

"Yes — of  course." 

"I'd  like  to  know  who  they  are,  Klein." 

"You'll  never  know  from  me." 

"All  right,"— laughing  lightly.—"  Well,  I'm 
going  out  of  the  city  to-day,  on  business;  and 
I  won't  be  back  till  this  evening — late.  Now, 
I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do:  I'll  wire  or  phone 
the  girl  here — Miss  Grimes,  my  decision,  just 
after  noon;  and  she  can  call  you  up  and  in- 
form you.  That  do?" 

Klein  obstinately  and  emphatically  shook 
his  big  fat  head. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  Mr.  Ned, 
jerking  out  his  watch  and  consulting  it. 
"Don't  the  arrangement  suit  you?" 

"No,"  mumbled  Klein. 

"Well?'' 

"It's  too  uncertain,  too  much  latitude  for 

268 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

mistakes  and  misunderstandings — under  the 
circumstances." 

"What  do  you  suggest,  then?" 

"That  you  draw  up  a  little  paper,  agreeing 
to  take  the  property  and  stating  that  your 
father  is  to  act  for  you— 

"Father's  in  bed  with  a  cold." 

"Well,  the  young  lady,  then." 

"Go  on." 

"Stating  that  the  young  lady  is  to  act  for 
you  in  the  deal,  as  you  will  be  absent;  and 
if  she  adds  her  signature  to  yours  on  the 
agreement,  the  sale  is  closed  and  the. prop- 
erty is  yours.  Then  you  can  wire  or  phone 
her  your  instructions — whether  she  is  to  sign 
it  or  not." 

"W-e-1-1,"  Mr.  Ned  replied  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  "I  see  nothing  wrong  about 
that;  but  we'll  draw  up  the  document  in 
duplicate  and— 

"What's  the  use  of  doing  that?"  Mr.  Klein 
interrupted  hastily,  wrinkling  his  face  in  a 
scowl. 

"No  use,  maybe — but  we'll  do  it;  and 
we'll  make  the  agreement  on  my  part  an 
acceptance  on  yours — that  is,  that  I  agree 

269 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

to  take  the  property  and  you  agree  to  the 
arrangement  and  the  terms." 

"All  right/'  mumbled  Mr.  Klein;  "but  I 
don't  see  any  use  of  having  the  thing  in 
duplicate." 

"  Well,  it  won't  do  any  harm,  at  any  rate," 
Mr.  Ned  said  smoothly.  "Miss  Grimes,  write 
what  I  dictate,  please." 

I  sat  down  to  the  typewriter;  and  soon 
had  the  paper  prepared.  It  was  a  provisional 
agreement  on  the  part  of  Edward  Durbin,  to 
purchase  a  piece  of  real-estate  owned  by  Hor- 
ace Klein,  designated  as  the  Klein  coal-yards 
tract,  at  the  named  price  of  seventy-five  thou- 
sand dollars;  also,  it  stipulated  that  Horace 
Klein  accepted  the  above  price  for  the  prop- 
erty named ;  and  provided  that  the  agreement 
was  null  and  void  unless  signed  by  Edward 
Durbin,  Horace  Klein,  and  Sarah  Grimes- 
amanuensis  for  the  firm  of  Durbin  and  Son. 

"That's  all  right,"  Mr.  Ned  said  briskly 
when  I  read  what  I  had  written.  "Here, 
Klein — let's  sign  it." 

Rather  reluctantly,  I  thought,  Mr.  Klein 
put  his  scrawling  signature  to  the  two  papers; 
and  Mr.  Ned  hurriedly  added  his.  Then  the 

270 


former  thrust  one  of  the  folded  documents 
into  his  pocket,  and  grunted : 

"Now,  I'll  come  in  here  at  one  o'clock — 
unless  something  keeps  me  away — and  wait 
till  two.  Then  if  Miss  Grimes  doesn't  sign 
up  these  papers,  the  deal's  off.  Is  that 
straight?" 

"That's  straight,"  Mr.  Ned  answered. 

"And  if  she  does  sign  'em,  the  deal's 
closed.  Is  that  straight?" 

"Straight  as  a  string,"  laughed  my  em- 
ployer. 

"All  right,"  growled  the  morose  Mr.  Klein 
— and  waddled  from  the  office. 

"Now,"  Mr.  Ned  cried  energetically,  again 
consulting  his  watch,  "let's  have  a  distinct 
and  definite  understanding  of  this  matter, 
Marjory;  and  then  I  must  be  off  to  catch 
my  car.  Listen,  now.  I've  signed  a  pro- 
visional agreement  to  purchase  a  piece  of 
real  estate  from  Klein;  your  signature  to 
that  agreement  makes  it  binding  upon  me 
to  take  the  property  and  pay  for  it.  The 
property's  worth  about  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars,  on  the  market  —  not  a  cent 
more.  I've  agreed  to  take  it  at  the  price  of 

271 


seventy-five  thousand  —  fifty  thousand  more 
than  it's  worth.  You've  learned  my  reason 
for  desiring  to  purchase  it  at  three  times  its 
real  value.  If  the  Transylvania  company 
decides  to  enlarge  its  yards,  I  want  the  prop- 
erty by  all  means.  The  railroad  company'll 
have  to  have  it,  they  can't  do  without  it; 
and  I  can  get  any  price  for  it  I  have  the 
conscience — no,  the  gall — to  ask.  But  if  the 
Transylvania  company  determines  not  to  en- 
large its  yards, — and  the  decision  will  be 
made  to-night, — I  don't  want  the  property  at 
all;  I  would  be  sinking  just  fifty  thousand 
for  nothing.  See?" 

I  nodded  very  gravely.  Such  stupendous 
figures,  when  applied  to  money,  almost  took 
my  breath  away,  Nell  Adams. 

Mr.  Ned  continued  rapidly:  "All  right. 
I've  had  an  option  on  that  piece  of  property 
for  the  last  six  months;  I  caught  a  rumor  of 
what  the  railroad  had  in  mind — and  tied 
onto  the  thing.  Now,  I'm  going  to  try  to 
determine  by  noon  whether  I  desire  to  close 
the  deal  that  makes  it  mine.  That's  what 
I'm  leaving  town  for.  I'm  going  to  run  down 
to  Newark,  to  meet  a  friend  from  New  York, 

?72 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

who'll  be  on  the  B.  and  O.  train  for  Chicago. 
He's  in  a  position  to  know  what  the  Transyl- 
vania means  to  do — will  do  to-night.  I  wrote 
him  two  weeks  ago;  and  day  before  yester- 
day I  got  a  letter  from  him,  saying  for  me 
to  meet  him  at  Newark  to-day — that  he  would 
have  positive  information  for  me." 

He  got  upon  his  feet  and  began  to  put  on 
his  overcoat,  continuing: 

"Now,  here's  your  instructions — a  final 
word:  If  I  wire  or  phone  you  to  sign  that 
agreement,  do  so;  if  I  send  you  word  not 
to  sign  it,  or  you  don't  hear  from  me  at  all, 
don't  sign  it — that's  all.  Everything  clear?" 

"Yes,"  I  murmured  faintly,  appalled  at 
the  responsibility  that  was  to  rest  upon  poor 
little  insignificant  me.  Then,  as  an  after- 
thought, I  said :  "  What  time  will  I  get  word 
from  you,  Mr.  Ned — Ned?" 

And  I  couldn't  help  but  blush  a  little, 
Nell! 

The  big,  virile,  handsome  fellow  smiled 
down  upon  me,  as  he  made  answer: 

"Some  time  between  one  and  two.  You 
be  sure  and  be  here." 

"But  something  might  be  wrong  with  the 

273 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

phone,  Ned,  or  the  telegram  might  not  reach 
me  in  time,"  I  objected. 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  take  the  risk;  it's  the 
best  we  can  do." 

"And  another  thing." 

"Yes?" 

"  How  about  my  signing  my  name  as  Sarah 
Grimes?" 

"No  harm  will  come  of  that,"  he  laughed 
lightly;  "this  deal  isn't  likely  to  become  a 
case  in  court." 

"Who  is  this  man  Klein,  Ned — Mr.  Ned- 
Ned?" — again  blushing. 

"  He's  president  of  the  Mondarun  coal  com- 
pany." 

"  Well,  what  am  I  to  do  if  you  send  me  in- 
structions to  sign  those  papers  and  he  fails 
to  come  around?" 

"You  must  find  him — dead  sure." 

Then  he  came  up  to  me,  and  playfully  yet 
soberly  put  his  hand  under  my  chin  and 
turned  my  face  up  toward  his. 

"Little  girl,"  he  said,  "I'm  going  to  de- 
pend upon  you  to  carry  this  affair  through 
all  straight,  even  if  I  can't  depend  upon  you 
in  some  things." 

274 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Why,  Ned/'  I  murmured,  "can't  you  de- 
pend upon  me  in — in  everything?" 

"I  wish  I  could/'  he  muttered  earnestly;— 
then,  looking  through  my  eyes  and  down 
deep  into  my  soul :  —  "  and  —  and  I  guess  I 


can." 


With  that,  he  bent  and  kissed  me.  Then 
he  sprang  away  from  me,  waved  his  hand 
and  cried  cheerily,  laughingly: 

"So  long!" 

And  I  stood  stock  still,  listening  to  his  re- 
ceding footsteps;  and  my  heart  was  echoing 
his  laughter,  Nell  Adams! 

The  forenoon  passed  pleasantly,  quickly;  I 
was  glad  to  be  alone — happy  to  have  no  com- 
pany but  my  thoughts. 

I  went  to  lunch  at  eleven-thirty;  and,  as 
I  was  in  a  hurry  to  return  to  the  office,  I  went 
to  the  Busy  Bee — a  restaurant  near  at  hand. 
Barely  had  my  order  been  filled,  when  two 
men  came  in  and  took  a  table  near  me,  just 
behind  me. 

"It's  all  right,  I  tell  you,"  I  heard  one  of 
them  say;  "no  chance  for  a  mistake." 

The  voice  was  the  voice  of  my  little  cigar- 
ette fiend,  Mr.  Morse;  and  I  was  about  to 

275 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

turn  and  recognize  him,  when  I  heard  him 
continue — in  excited,  incautious  tones: 

"No,  Walsh,  it's  a  dead  sure  thing.  If 
Ned  Durbin  doesn't  take  the  property  by 
two  o'clock, — and  I  don't  believe  he  will, 
for  he  doesn't  know  what  /  do, — we  want 
to  close  our  option,  tie  right  onto  it.  What 
do  you  say,  Walsh?" 

"Don't  know,"  the  other  man  muttered. 

I  was  alert,  interested,  concerned — at  once; 
and  determined  to  glean  the  full  import  of 
that  conversation,  if  possible.  So  I  neglected 
my  lunch  and  devoted  my  energies  to  an  at- 
tempt to  hear  all  that  was  said.  The  clatter 
and  confusion  of  the  big  room  was  terrific; 
but,  as  I  sat  almost  as  close  to  Mr.  Morse 
and  his  companion  as  each  sat  close  to  the 
other,  I  succeeded  in  catching  nearly  every 
word  they  uttered. 

My  little  dude  pleadingly  continued: 

"  Why,  Walsh,  we  don't  want  to  let  a  good 
thing  like  that  get  away;  it's  the  chance  of  a 
lifetime.  We  don't  stand  to  lose  a  cent— 

"You  mean  you  don't,"  Walsh  interrupted; 
"but  /  stand  to  lose  fifty  or  sixty  thousand 
— maybe." 

276 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"I  tell  you  you  don't  stand  to  lose  a  cent," 
Mr.  Morse  cried,  almost  frantically;  "it's  a 
dead  sure  thing.  The  Transylvania's  going 
to  enlarge  their  yards — that's  all.  And  we'll 
stand  to  win  a  hundred  thousand,  at  the 
smallest  figure;  and  fifty  thousand  of  that'll 
be  yours.  That  gives  you  an  even  chance 
for  your  money,  even  if  we  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  what  the  Transylvania  means  to 
do — which  we  do  know." 

"/  don't  know  anything,"  Walsh  objected. 

"Yes,  you  do;   I've  told  you." 

"  Well,  you'll  have  to  show  me,  Morse ;  I'm 
from  Missouri,  when  it  comes  to  a  deal  as 
big  as  this — and  my  good  money  backed  only 
by  another  fellow's  wind." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Walsh?" — 
almost  whimpering,  the  little  insignificant 
putty-face! — "You  and  I  have  this  option — 
your  money  against  what  I  know ;  and  surely 
you're  not  going  to — to— 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  back  right  square  out 
of  the  thing — right  this  minute,  unless  you 
show  me," — firmly,  inexorably. — "You're  urg- 
ing me  to  close  the  deal ;  but  you  haven't  got 
a  cent  in  it.  If  we  win,  you  get  half;  if  we 

277 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

lose,  you  lose  nothing.  I  say  you've  got  to 
show  me." 

"But,  Walsh/' — really  whining  lugubri- 
ously,— "I  can't  tell  you  when  and  where 
and  how  I  got  my  tip — I  can't!" 

"  Well,  you  can — and  you  will,  or  the  game's 
off.  There!" 

"Well,"  Morse  cried  in  desperation,  "if  I 
must,  I  must — that's  all;  for  I  can't  lose  the 
only  chance  I've  ever  had  to  get  on  my  feet. 
But,  Walsh,  you  must  promise  me  to  keep 
mum;  it  would  play  the  devil  with  me,  if 
you'd  ever  tell  on  me.  You  must  promise 
not  to  tell." 

"Oh,  I  promise  that!"  Walsh  laughed  dis- 
agreeably. 

How  I  despised  that  little  dope  fiend!  I 
felt,  rather  than  saw,  him  sweep  a  glance  in 
my  direction;  and  I  feared  he  might  recog- 
nize me,  though  my  back  was  toward  him. 
I  was  greatly  relieved  when  he  again  turned 
leaning  far  over  the  table  and  speaking  so 
low  I  could  not  catch  all  he  said.  However, 
this  is  what  drifted  to  me — in  shreds  and 
tatters: 

"Well,  here's  ...  I  got  next.     Klein  .  . 

278 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

cousin  in  employ sylvania  comp  .  . 

.  .  .  .  ;  ...  he's  high  muckamuck 

he  wrote  Klein going  to  enlarge 

yards,  sure.  I  stole 

Klein's  desk.  See?" 

"Got  that  letter  with  you?"  I  heard  Walsh 
say  distinctly. 

"Yes," — almost  a  whisper. 

"Let  me  see  it." 

A  momentary  pause  in  the  conversation; 
the  crumpling  crackle  of  stiff  paper;  then, 
from  Walsh,  exultantly: 

"Say!  That's  all  right;  that  reads  good 
— to  me.  But,  hello!" — shrewdly,  sarcastic- 
ally. 

"What?" — from  Mr.  Morse,  sharply. 

"I  see  now  why  Klein  was  so  anxious  to 
have  me  sign  a  provisional  contract — a  con- 
tract to  be  void  unless  signed  by  you  before 
four  o'clock  to-day.  I  wondered  why  he 
wanted  that;  now  I  know.  The  infernal 
scoundrel!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Walsh?" — anxiously, 
fearsomely. 

"Why,  don't  you  catch  on?  Klein  doesn't 
want  us  to  close  the  deal,  he  wants  to  sell  the 

279 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF  MARJORY 

property  to  the  Transylvania  himself;  and 
he  doesn't  mean  to  give  you  a  chance  to  sign 
that  contract — that's  what." 

"  Doesn't  —  mean  —  to  —  give  —  me  —  a  — 
chance  —  to  —  sign  —  it?  "  —  slowly,  thickly. 

"That's  what  I  said.  Of  course  he  doesn't 
mean  to  give  you  a  chance  to  sign  it;  he 
means  to  avoid  you — to  be  in  hiding." 

"Good  heavens!"  Mr.  Morse  gasped.  "Do 
you  think  that?" 

All  at  once,  Nell  Adams,  7  caught  on,  too; 
and  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  nearly  upsetting  my 
chair  as  I  did  so.  Klein  had  played  the  same 
trick  upon  Mr.  Ned!  He  didn't  mean  to  give 
me  a  chance  to  sign  the  agreement  he  and 
my  employer  had  signed — the  one  he  had  in 
his  own  possession;  he  didn't  mean  to  come 
back  to  the  office  at  all! 

I  don't  know  how  I  got  out  of  the  restau- 
rant; I  don't  know  whether  Mr.  Morse  saw 
and  recognized  me  or  not.  I  do  know  I 
hurried  back  to  the  office  as  fast  as  I  could 
go — thinking,  thinking,  wildly,  erratically, 
irrationally.  What  could  I  do?  I  must  get 
to  sign  that  paper;  I  must — I  must!  It  was 
half-past  twelve;  I  mustn't  wait.  What 

280 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

should  I  do — what  could  I  do?  The  thought 
that  I  mustn't  sign  the  paper  till  I  had  heard 
from  Mr.  Ned  never  entered  my  noddle;  that 
part  of  the  arrangement  was  out  of  my  reck- 
oning. All  I  could  think  was  that  my  em- 
ployer— my  dear  young  employer ! — was  about 
to  be  defrauded;  and  that  I  must  prevent  it. 
I  must  get  the  tricky  president  of  the  Mon- 
darun  coal  company  back  to  our  office;  but 
how — but  how?  Ah,  I  had  it — I  had  it! 
And  my  feet  fairly  flew!  No  doubt  Klein 
was  already  in  hiding — with  no  intention  of 
turning  up  till  after  four  o'clock,  after  the 
options  had  expired ;  but  no  doubt,  I  argued, 
somebody  at  his  office  was  cognizant  of  his 
whereabouts.  And  I  thought  I  knew  how  to 
entice  him  from  his  hiding-place. 

On  reaching  my  place  of  employment  I  went 
to  the  phone  and  called  up  the  office  of  the 
Mondarun  coal  company. 

"  Hello ! "  I  said.  "  This  the  Mondarun  coal 
company?  You  say  it  is?  All  right.  Is  Mr. 
Klein  there?  He  isn't?"— I  felt  sure  that 
he  wouldn't  be. — "Well,  where  will  I  find 
him?  Oh!  you  don't  know,  you  say?" — My 
suspicions  were  already  confirmed. — "Yes,  it's 

281 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

important — very  important.  Yes.  Well,  it 
doesn't  make  any  difference  who  I  am;  but 
I'm  down  at  the  Neil,  and  I  want  to  talk 
business  to  him.  Yes — very  important,  I 
said.  You  think  you  might  find  him?  All 
right.  Oh!  just  say  that  a  man  down  at  the 
Neil  wants  to  talk  Transylvania  to  him. 
Yes,  Transylvania;  I  think  he'll  catch  on. 
Does  he  know  me?  No;  but  it's  to  his  in- 
terest to  get  acquainted  with  me.  Say  that 
to  him.  Yes;  yes,  that's  it.  I'll  be  wait- 
ing at  the  clerk's  desk.  Oh!  well,  I'll  know 
him;  and  I'll  be  on  the  watch  for  him.  Yes, 
indeed — right  away.  Uh-huh,  Transylvania. 
All  right.  Goodbye." 

I  had  spoken  in  as  coarse  and  rough  a  voice 
as  I  could  command;  and  you  know  I'm 
something  of  a  mimic  when  I  try,  Nell.  Still 
I  thought  the  man  at  the  other  end  of  the 
line  was  somewhat  suspicious,  and  I  feared 
he  might  call  up  central  to  confirm  or  deny 
the  truth  of  my  statement  that  I  was  talk- 
ing from  the  Neil.  But  I  had  played  my 
first  card,  and  could  not  recall  it.  I  hoped 
it  would  win  the  trick;  hoped  Klein  would 
think  some  representative  of  the  Transyl- 

282 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

vania  company  was  at  the  Neil,  anxious  to 
talk  to  him  about  the  purchase  of  the  piece 
of  property  on  which  my  employer  had  first 
option. 

I  was  trembling  all  over  with  undue  and 
unusual  excitement;  and  I  could  hardly  hold 
the  pen  as  I  sat  down  to  write: 

"Mr.  Horace  Klein: 

"Come  to  Durbin  and  Son's  office  at 
once.  I  am  ready  to  sign  the  agreement 
signed  by  Edward  Durbin  and  yourself 
this  morning.  Truly, 

"Sarah  Grimes." 

Then  I  called  Jones  in  from  the  outer  office 
and  said  to  him: 

"Jones," — I  called  him  just  Jones,  Nell;  I 
was  wasting  no  titles  of  respect  upon  his  like 
just  then! — "do  you  know  Mr.  Klein  of  the 
Mondarun  coal  company?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Grimes," — very  respectfully, — 
"I  know  him  when  I  see  him." 

"Well,  make  yourself  acquainted  with  the 
contents  of  this  note — that  you  may  be  able 
to  recall  what  it's  about,  if  necessity  arises." 

283 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Jones  read  the  brief  missive;  then  silently 
looked  at  me  for  further  orders. 

"Now,"  I  commanded  loftily,  "take  it  up 
to  the  Neil  and  give  it  to  Mr.  Klein;  and  see 
that  he  reads  it  and  accompanies  you  back 
here." 

"  All  right,  Miss  Grimes.  Will  he  be  await- 
ing me  there?" 

"  I  don't  know.  '  But  if  he  isn't  there,  wait 
for  him;  and  if  he  doesn't  come  in — let  me 
see — in  a  half-hour,  you  phone  me.  And, 
Jones,  listen !" —with  all  impressiveness. 

"Yes,  Miss  Grimes." 

"You  can't  imagine  how  important  your 
mission  is;  how  important  that  Mr.  Klein 
should  get  that  note  and  be  here  before  two 
o'clock.  If  he  fails  to  come,  we'll  both  lose 
our  jobs." 

"Oh,  dear!"  he  ejaculated  in  genuine  con- 
sternation. 

"Now,  be  off,"  I  cried.  Then,  as  an  after- 
thought: "And  don't  let  Mr.  Klein  strike 
you." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  remark.  The  fel- 
low's jaw  dropped;  my  innocent  warning  had 
greatly  alarmed  him.  For  the  moment  I 

284 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

feared  I  had  spoiled  everything — feared  Jones 
would  refuse  to  serve  as  my  messenger. 

"Go!"  I  commanded  sternly.  "Go  at 
once!" 

"But — but —  he  stammered,  "what  do 
you  mean  by  saying  Klein  may  strike  me?" 

"The  note  will  make  him  mad — that's  all," 
I  hastily  explained.  "But  you  be  off;  and 
remember  you'll  lose  your  job  if  you  don't 
have  him  here  before  two  o'clock." 

"But  maybe  he'll  refuse  to  come,"  was  the 
fellow's  natural  objection. 

"If  he  says  he  won't  come,  tell  him  we're 
on  to  his  game — and  will  carry  the  case  into 
court.  Now,  skidoo!" 

And  he  went — like  he  had  an  invitation  to 
dine  somewhere,  Nell! 

I  sat  and  waited  and  worried,  and  worried 
and  waited;  and  fidgeted  and  consulted  my 
watch,  and  then  fidgeted  some  more  and 
again  looked  at  my  timepiece.  One  o'clock 
passed,  one- thirty  came  and  went;  and  no 
Mr.  Klein  put  in  an  appearance,  no  Jones 
phoned  me.  It  was  like  having  a  spell  of 
nightmare  upon  a  bed  of  sickles,  Nell !  Oo-h ! 
I  don't  want  to  think  of  it  any  more! 

285 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

At  one-forty-five  the  door  opened  and— 
in  the  two  men  came.  Both  were  puffing; 
and  Klein  was  red-of-face  and  perspiring, 
though  the  day  was  raw.  I  motioned  the 
latter  to  a  chair  and  signalled  Jones  to  leave 
the  room.  Then  I  said  quietly: 

"  Hand  me  the  paper  you  have,  Mr.  Klein  ; 
I'm  ready  to  sign  it." 

"Did  you  phone  to  my  office  for  me?"  he 
countered  brusquely. 

"I  did,"  I  replied  coolly. 

"Saying  a  man  wanted  to  see  me  on  busi- 
ness, at  the  Neil?" 

"Yes." 

"What  made  you  do  that?" 

"You  know," 

"Well,  don't  you  know  you're  likely  to  get 
into   trouble  for  such  a  thing  as  that?" 
blusteringly. 

"I  think  not," — smiling  sweetly. 

"There  wasn't  any  man  at  the  Neil,  want- 
ing to  see  me;    and— 

"Jones  was  there." 

"  Y-e-s,"— sullenly ;— "  but—  " 

"Hand  over  the  paper,  Mr.  Klein." 

"You're  ready  to  sign  'em,  are  you?" 

286 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Certainly." 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Durbin — saying  for 
you  to  sign  'em?" 

"No;    but  I'm  ready  to  sign  them." 

"W-e-11," — opening  his  small  yellowish- 
green  eyes  wide  and  pouting  his  full  lips, — 
"don't  you  know  that  would  be  illegal?" 

"Give  me  the  paper,"  I  insisted. 

"  It  won't  do  any  good  for  you  to  sign  'em 
— when  Durbin  hasn't  ordered  you  to;  it 
won't  stand  in  law." 

I  said  no  more  for  a  moment.  Instead  I 
deliberately  took  out  my  watch  and  looked 
at  it.  It  wanted  but  five  minutes  of  two. 

"Mr.  Klein,"  I  said  slowly,  returning  my 
timepiece  to  its  fob,  "do  you  refuse  to  let 
me  sign  that  paper?" 

I  knew  he  was  playing  for  time. 

"Why — why,"  he  stammered;  and  came 
to  a  stop. 

"  Shall  I  call  in  the  office  force  and  inform 
them  you  refuse  to  let  me  sign  that  paper, 
Mr.  Klein?" 

He  got  purple  in  the  face  and  the  cords  of 
his  short  neck  swelled ;  but  he  silently  pulled 
out  the  paper  and  handed  it  to  me. 

287 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Jones/'  I  called  triumphantly. 

The  fellow  came  in. 

"Jones,  I  want  you  to  see  me  sign  this. 
Read  it  over." 

When  it  was  all  over,  Nell  Adams,  the 
starch  was  all  out  of  me;  I  was  a  rag!  I 
went  home,  miserable  with  a  nervous  head- 
ache; but  happy — so  happy!  And  I  went 
to  bed  without  any  supper;  and  fell  asleep 
murmuring : 

"Oh,  I  did  it— I  did  it!  I  did  it  for  Ned 
—my  Ned!" 

But,  oh,  the  blackest  of  black  disappoint- 
ments fate  had  in  store  for  me! 


288 


XIII. 

I  DID  not  wake  till  late  the  next  morning; 
and  the  first  thought  that  came  to  me — wasn't 
it  strange,  Nell! — wasn't  of  Mr.  Ned  and  what 
he  had  done  to  me  the  day  before,  but  was  of 
what  he  had  said  to  me:  "If  you  don't  hear 
from  me,  don't  sign  the  papers!" 

And  the  disquieting  question  immediately 
presented  itself :  "  Did  I  do  right  in  not  heed- 
ing his  positive  order — or  not?" 

I  arose  and  began  to  dress — hurriedly, 
feverishly.  My  head  had  quit  aching,  but 
it  felt  numb  and  dumb  and  dizzy;  and  my 
fingers  shook  so  that  I  could  hardly  fasten 
my  clothes.  Had  I  done  right — or  had  I 
done  wrong?  Pshaw!  Why  hadn't  I  thought 
of  that  before?  If — if  I  had  made  a  mistake, 
—oh,  I  wouldn't  think  of  such  a  thing!— 
what,  then?  It  was  too  awful!  Of  course 
I  hadn't  committed  a  blunder,  I  tried  to  as- 
sure myself — of  course  I  hadn't!  Mr.  Ned's 
message  had  failed  to  reach  me,  or  he  had 
not  met  his  friend  at  Newark,  or  the  friend 

289 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

had  misinformed  him;  to  be  sure  that  was 
the  way  of  it!  And  I  had  picked  up  reliable 
information;  I  had  done  what  anyone  of 
common  sense  would  have  done— had  done 
what  Mr.  Ned  would  have  had  me  do,  could 
I  have  communicated  with  him  at  the  time. 
Of  course  I  had  done  right — of  course  I 
had! 

My  brain  began  to  clear;  my  spirits  began 
to  rise.  My  train  of  reasoning  allayed  my 
fears,  quieted  my  nerves;  and  the  crowd  of 
blue-devils  that  had  beset  me  whisked  them- 
selves out  of  sight,  and  there  stood  Cupid — 
dimpled,  rosy,  smiling!  At  once  I  was  happy, 
jubilant!  Everything  would  be  all  right- 
more  than  all  right!  Mr.  Ned  would  be 
pleased  with  what  I  had  done— delighted ;  he 
would  praise  my  devotion  to  his  interests  and 
compliment  me  upon  my  shrewdness  and 
keen  business  sense.  I  knew  he  would !  And 
—and — well,  there  was  no  telling  what  he 
might  do,  in  a  moment  of  gratitude  and  joy ! 

I  hurried  down  to  the  street,  treading  upon 
air.  The  sun  was  shining  bright;  the  spar- 
rows were  flitting  here  and  there  and  chirp- 
ing merrily.  What  a  good  world  it  was  to 

290 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

be  in — to  be  sure!  I  stopped  at  my  usual 
place  and  ate  a  hearty  breakfast,  all  the 
while  smiling,  dreaming  —  dreaming  day 
dreams  the  most  delightful.  Maybe  Mr.  Ned 
would — would — well,  maybe  he  would!  And 
maybe  we'd  go  abroad;  and — oo-h! — but 
that  would  be  great!  And  we'd  have  a  lot 
of  money;  and — just  to  think! — I  could  feel 
that  7  had  helped  to  make  it!  Oh,  bliss  and 
glory! 

I  was  an  hour  behind  time,  but  I  didn't 
care  for  that;  and  I  knew  Mr.  Ned  wouldn't 
care — when  he  learned  what  I  had  done  for 
him.  Oh,  wouldn't  it  be  great — just  simply 
great! — to  tell  him?  I  could  hardly  wait  till 
I  reached  the  office;  and  I  didn't  walk  from 
my  car  to  the  curb — I  flew.  Oh,  how  pokey 
the  old  elevator  was !  And  I  flirted  my  skirts 
through  the  outer  office,  unheeding  the  stares 
bent  upon  me,  entered  the  inner  room  and 
stood  in  the  presence  of — Mr.  Ned. 

He  sat  slouched  down  in  his  arm  chair,  in 
true  American  style — his  hands  thrust  deep 
into  his  trousers'  pockets,  his  chin  upon  his 
breast.  Apathetically  he  glanced  up  as  I 
closed  the  door  behind  me,  and  gave  a  slight 

291 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

start — of  surprise,  I  thought;  and  I  won- 
dered why.  But  he  merely  nodded,  and  sank 
back  into  his  listless  attitude.  Not  only  was 
he  sunk  in  the  depths  of  his  chair,  but  he  was 
sunk  in  the  depths  of  despair — that  I  could 
plainly  see;  and  I  giggled  inwardly,  thinking 
how  I'd  boost  him  out  of  both  with  the  giant- 
cracker  of  good  news  which  I  had  concealed 
on  my  person  and  which  I  meant  to  touch 
off.  I  knew  what  ailed  him — of  course  I 
did!  He  was  grieving  over  his  ill  luck — that 
was  it.  No  doubt  the  Transylvania  company 
had  decided  to  enlarge  their  freight  yards- 
no  doubt  they  had! — and  this  morning  the 
news  was  current  and  Mr.  Ned  had  heard  it; 
and  now — not  knowing  what  I  had  done,  tee- 
hee ! — he  was  blue  over  his  fancied  loss  of  the 
property.  Oh,  hadn't  I  a  pleasant  surprise 
in  store  for  him — and  wouldn't  he  be  de- 
lighted! 

"Good  morning,"  I  said  brightly. 

He  looked  up  at  me,  gropingly,  question- 
ingly;  but  no  smile  lighted  the  depths  of  his 
sombre  features. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Dawes,"  he  mum- 
bled huskily. 

292 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Miss  Dawes!  And  at  such  a  time — right 
when  I  was  about  to  treat  him  to  a  pleasur- 
able surprise !  The  day  before  it  was — Mar- 
jory; and  now  it  was — Miss  Dawes!  What 
could  it  mean?  It  was  mean,  anyhow!  Never 
mind!  I'd  punish  him  for  that — by  with- 
holding my  news  and  teasing  him  about  his 
spell  of  the  blues! 

"You  don't  seem  in  a  very  good  humor 
this  morning,  Mr.  Ned — Ned,"  I  pouted 
prettily,  dwelling  fondly,  lingeringly,  upon 
the  italicized  word. 

He  gave  me  another  of  those  strange,  in- 
quiring looks;  then  he  muttered  glumly: 

"Not  very,  I  guess." 

"What's  the  matter?" —hanging  up  my 
things.— "Sick?" 

"No,"— curtly. 

"Are  you  worrying  about  your  father?  Is 
he  worse?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"How  is  he  this  morning?" 

"Better." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  I  murmured.  "But 
what's  the  matter  with  you — Ned?" 

He  made  no  answer;   simply  accorded  me 

293 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

another  of  those  searching,  wondering  stares. 

"Well,"  I  said  softly — striving  to  force  a 
little  pathos  into  my  voice  and  squeeze  a 
little  moisture  into  my  eyes,  "you  don't  have 
to  tell  me,  if  you  don't  want  to — of  course." 

Still  he  made  no  answer;  just  continued  to 
look  at  me  in  that  peculiar,  interrogative  way. 
It  made  me  all  prickly — all  fidgety.  How 
odd  he  acted !  Was  he  just  down  in  the  dumps 
over  his  fancied  loss?  Or  was — was  it  some- 
thing else?  Seeing  he  didn't  mean  to  speak 
—didn't  mean  to  enlighten  me,  I  went  on, 
at  a  venture: 

"You  didn't  phone  me  yesterday." 

He  kept  silent. 

"Did  you?"  —impatiently,  insistently. 

"No." 

"Nor  telegraph  me?" 

"Of  course  not," — gruffly. 

"Well,  you  needn't  be  so — so  cross  about 
it,"  I  quavered;    "I  didn't  know — know  but 
you  might  have  done  so,   and   failed    to  — 
to—" 

I  choked  up  and  stopped;  but  he  gave  no 
heed  to  my  emotion,  had  no  concern,  appar- 
ently, for  the  hurt  he  had  given  me.  He 

294 


just  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  me — that 
expression  of  mute,  mysterious  inquiry  upon 
his  dark  face.  Exasperated,  I  cried — tri- 
umphantly, dramatically : 

"Well,  Mr.  Edward  Durbin,  I  signed  the 
papers,  anyhow!" 

I  expected  him  to  be  surprised — greatly 
surprised — joyfully  surprised;    expected  him 
to  spring  to  his  feet,   to  exclaim,   to — to- 
well,  to  catch  me  in  his  arms,  maybe,  and— 
and!     But  judge  of  my  surprise,  my  disap- 
pointment, my  dismay,  Nell  Adams,  when  he 
did  nothing  but  nod  surlily  and  say: 

"Yes,  I  know  you  did." 

I  fairly  jumped. 

"You  know  I  did?"  I  cried. 

He  nodded. 

"How — how — who  told  you?" 

"Jones." 

Jones!  I  had  forgotten  all  about  Jones 
and  his  knowledge  of  what  I  had  done.  Jones ! 
The  meddler — to  tell  Mr.  Ned  what  /  wanted 
to  tell  him!  But  if  Jones  had  told  Mr.  Ned 
of  my  signing  the  papers,  what  was  the  mat- 
ter with  my  dear  young  employer?  The  ques- 
tion immediately  presented  itself,  and  was 

295 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

disturbing,  disconcerting;  and  it  would  not 
down — and  I  out  with  it. 

"Well,  if  Jones  has — has  told  you,"  I  mur- 
mured tremulously,  "why — why  are  you  so 
— so  dejected?" 

"Yes,  sure  enough — why!" — a  sarcastic 
growl. 

"Yes,  why?"  I  insisted,  undefined  fear 
nagging  me.  "Why?" 

"Well," — a  sneer  lifting  one  corner  of  his 
wide  mouth, — "I  suppose  it  is  unpardonable 
in  me  to  be  feeling  bum ;  I  ought  to  be  feeling 
as  frisky  as  a  yearling  colt — as  skittish  as  a 
skeeter.  Of  course  most  fellows  when  they 
lose  forty  or  fifty  thousand  dollars  feel  real 
gay;  but  somehow  /  don't.  I'm  not  appre- 
ciative of  the  good  things  of  life,  I  suppose." 

"Lose  forty  or  fifty  thousand  dollars!"  I 
exclaimed.  "Why  you're  not  going  to  lose 
that  amount — you're  not  going  to  lose  any- 
thing." 

"No?"— in  wide-eyed  incredulity. 

"No,  you're  not," — with  great  assurance, 
more  than  I  fully  felt,  perhaps. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  I'm  not  to  lose  any- 
thing, I'm  sure," — the  merest  semblance  of  a 

296 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

smile  twitching  his  lips; — "for  the  prospect 
has  been  worrying  me  a  bit,  I  admit.  Still 
I  haven't  as  much  faith  in  your  statement  as 
I  would  like  to  have." 

"Why,  do  you  think  you're  going  to  lose 
money  on  that  property — that  Klein  prop- 
erty?" I  cried. 

"I  do — of  course  I  do." 

"You  can't,  Ned;  you  can't--!  tell 
you!" 

"That's  what  you  say — Marjory;  I  hear 
you.  But  why  can't  I?" 

"Why?    Haven't  you  heard,  Ned?" 

"Heard?  Yes,  I've  heard — heard  more 
than  enough,  such  as  it  is." 

"But  haven't  you  heard  about  the  Tran- 
sylvania?" 

He  looked  at  me — and  looked  at  me,  as  if 
he  thought  me  crazy. 

"Yes,     I've  -  -  heard  -  -  about  -  -  the  - 
Transylvania,"  he  said  very  slowly  and  so- 
berly. 

"Well?"  I  cried  triumphantly. 

"Well?"  he  demanded — almost  rudely. 

"Why,  the  Transylvania  has  decided  to  en- 
large its  yards." 

297 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Indeed?"— his  brows  lifted. 

"Yes." 

"Is  that  so?"  —in  apparent  amazement. 

"Yes,  that's  so," — a  little  nettled. 

"You  know  that  to  be  a  fact,  Marjory?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  W-e-11,  I'll  not  inquire  where  you  got  your 
information;  but  it  differs  very  materially 
from  this." 

With  the  words  he  picked  up  the  morning 
Journal  from  his  desk,  indicated  a  paragraph 
on  the  railroad  page  and  handed  the  paper 
to  me.  I  took  it  and  read: 

"Latest  dispatches  •'from  New  York  con- 
firm the  report  that  was  current  on  the 
streets  at  ten-thirty  last  night,  that  the 
Transylvania  had  decided  not  to  enlarge  its 
freight  yards  at  this  place.  This  is  sorry 
news  for  Columbus;  and  sorry  we  are  to 
have  to  give  it  out.  But— 

I  read  no  more,  Nell  Adams !  I  let  the 
paper  drop  to  the  floor,  and  sank  into  a  chair 
and  covered  my  face  with  my  hands.  Every- 
thing turned  bluish-black  and  yellowish-green ; 
and  I  thought  I  was  going  to  faint — and 
wanted  to!  Oh,  what  had  I  done?  What 

298 


had  I  done — done — done — done!  And  "  done  " 
was  the  word  that  kept  snapping  and  crack- 
ing in  my  ears;  and  "done"  were  my  dreams 
and  my  prospects;  and  dun  looked  the  fu- 
ture! Surely  I  had  went  and  gone  and  done 
it!  I  wanted  to  cry,  but  I  couldn't;  I  wanted 
to  swear — but  I  wouldn't! 

The  enormity  of  my  blunder  appalled  me, 
for  the  moment,  paralyzed  my  faculties.  Then, 
little  by  little,  I  began  to  recover — began  to 
collect  my  wits  and  really  think.  Why,  the 
thing  couldn't  be  so — it  just  couldn't  at  all; 
and  it  just  shouldn't!  I  had  tried  so  hard  to 
do  something  right;  and  it  had  gone  right 
wrong!  But  it  hadn't;  I  wouldn't  believe  it 
— and  I  didn't  believe  it! 

I  peeked  through  my  fingers  at  Mr.  Ned. 
He  was  looking  at  me  steadily,  gloomily— 
but  pityingly,  I  thought.  The  discovery  made 
me  sorrowful — made  me  glad;  and  the  tears 
began  to  come.  Then  a  little  sob  shook  my 
shoulders. 

"Marjory,"  my  companion  said  hoarsely 
but  kindly. 

"W-what,  N-Ned?"  I  articulated  with  dif- 
ficulty. 

299 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Don't  worry;  the  thing's  done — and  can't 
be  undone  now." 

A  flame  -of  anger  flared  up  within  me  and 
flashed  into  my  eyes.  I  jerked  my  hands 
away  from  my  face,  crying: 

"It's  done,  and  can't  be  helped,  Ned — in- 
deed! There's  nothing  done  that  can't  be 
helped;  there's  nothing  done  that  needs  to 
be  helped.  That  paper  lies — so  it  does!" 

"Does  it?"— amusedly. 

"Yes,  it  does.     I  heard  Mr.  Morse  say— 

"Ah,  Mr.  Morse!"  he  interrupted,  sitting 
up  very  straight  and  stiff.  "I  thought  it 
would  all  come  out,  if  I  only  waited  long 
enough;  I  thought  Morse  had  something  to 
do  with  the  thing.  Now,  tell  me  all  about 
it,  Marjory." 

"About  what,  Ned?" 

"About  what  Morse  had  to  do  with  your 
signing  those  papers,  of  course." 

"Why,  he  hadn't  anything,   only— 

"  Well?  "—impatiently. 

"Only  I  overheard  him  say  something  to 
another  man." 

"Oh!" 

"Yes." 

300 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

" That's  all,  eh?" 

"Yes,  that's  all." 

"Who  was  the  other  man?" 

"Mr.  Morse  called  him  Walsh." 

"  I  know  Walsh.  Now,  where  did  you  over- 
hear them  talking?" 

"At  the  Busy  Bee." 

"When  you  went  to  lunch?" 

"Yes."  * 

"You  took  a  seat  near  them,  or  they  took 
a  seat  near  you — which?" 

"They  took  a  seat  near  me." 

"  I  see.  Well,  what  did  you  hear  them  say? 
Tell  me  everything." 

I  did  so;  and,  at  the  conclusion  of  my  re- 
cital, he  remarked — shaking  his  head  pity- 
ingly and  smiling  tenderly: 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  being  fooled,  Mar- 
jory." 

"Fooled,  Ned?"— puzzled. 

He  nodded,  still  smiling  commiseratingly. 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean." 

"They  tricked  you,  Marjie." 

"They?     Who?" 

"Why,"  -  -  half  irritably,  -  -  "Klein  and 
Morse  and  Walsh — that's  who." 

301 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"You  mean  that  they  just — just— 

"Yes;    they  just  put  up  a  job  on  you." 

I  sank  back  in  my  chair,  nerveless,  help- 
less. 

"They  -  -  put  --up --a--  job  -  -  on  - 
me!"  I  murmured  thickly. 

"Yes,  they  did — damn  'em!"  Mr.  Ned  mut- 
tered. 

"But,  Ned,"  I  objected  weakly,  "Mr.  Klein 
wasn't  at  the  restaurant." 

"That  made  no  difference." 

"It  didn't?" 

"Why,  no,"  -impatiently. — "Can't  you 
understand?" 

"I — I  guess  not,"  I  had  to  admit. 

"Well,  listen,"  he  cried;  "I'll  explain. 
Klein  wanted  to  sell  the  property  to  me,  at 
the  exorbitant  price  of  my  option — which  / 
was  a  fool  ever  to  take.  So,  with  the  aid  of 
Morse  and  Walsh,  he  hatched  up  a  scheme 
to  load  it  on  to  me.  He  came  here  yesterday 
morning,  thinking  his  pretense  that  he  didn't 
want  to  sell  would  make  me  anxious  to  close 
the  bargain;  but  I  fooled  him — disappointed 
him.  Then,  when  I  told  him  I  was  going  out 
of  the  city,  he  saw  his  chance  to  load  it  on  to 

302 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

me  by  tricking  you;  and,  with  the  aid  of 
Morse  and  Walsh,  he  brought  the  thing  about. 
He  had  them  follow  you  to  the  restaurant  and 
play  the  little  farce-comedy  they  did.  You 
thought  they  were  there  by  accident;  but 
they  weren't.  They  took  you  in;  but,  as  I 
said,  I  don't  wonder.  It  was  slickly  done." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Ned— Ned!"  was  all  I  could 
whisper. 

Then,  as  a  quick  afterthought: 

"But  Mr.  Morse  and  Mr.  Walsh  had  an 
option  on  the  property,  too." 

"Simply  a  part  of  the  play,"  he  replied, 
sadly  shaking  his  head. 

"And,"  I  persisted,  "Mr.  Klein  hid  from 
me — and  didn't  mean  to  come  to  the  office 
at  all." 

"All  a  pretense,  Marjory — to  make  you 
eager  to  put  your  signature  to  the  papers." 

I  straightened  up  in  my  chair  and  said 
tersely,  flatly: 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"It's  true — too  true." 

"I  don't  believe  it,  I  say." 

"Nevertheless,  it's  true,  Marjory." 

"Then," — my  anger  rising,  from  pique  and 

303 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

nervousness,  I  suppose, — "you  think  I've 
been  fooled,  do  you?" 

"Of  course," — quite  calmly. 

"And  that  I'm  a  fool!" 

"I  didn't  say  that." 

"Well,  you  hinted  it;  people  can't  be 
fooled  unless  they're  more  or  less  fools." 

"Now!" 

"You  might  as  well  call  me  a  fool — and 
be  done  with  it." 

"Now,  Marjory!" 

"Oh,  you  might!" 

"Marjory,  you're  unjust,  unreasonable." 

"Most  fools  are,"  I  snapped. 

He  just  shook  his  head  and  smiled — pro- 
testingly,  provokingly. 

And  then  I  broke  loose: 

"  And  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  you  think  me, 
Ned  Durbin.  Those  men  weren't  shamming; 
it  was  all  real.  Mr.  Klein  had  had  word  from 
the  East;  and  he  didn't  want  to  sell  the  prop- 
erty; and  he  did  hide  from  Mr.  Morse  and 
Mr.  Walsh  and  me;  and  those  two  did  have 
a  second  option  on  the  property.  There!  I'll 
never  believe  anything  else,  either.  And  that 
paper  there  is  mistaken;  the  Transylvania 

304 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

hasn't   decided   not   to  enlarge  their  yards. 
Now!" 

And  I  settled  back  and  looked  him  square 
in  the  face,  coolly,  defiantly.  His  own  coun- 
tenance brightened  a  little — whether  from 
belief  in  my  very  decided  declaration  or  from 
admiration  of  my  spirit  of  self-assertiveness, 
I  couldn't  make  sure,  Nell;  and  he  muttered: 

"  What  makes  you  say  all  that  so  positively, 
Marjory?" 

"  Just  because — because— 

I  was  earnestly  and  busily  searching  for  my 
reason. 

"Well?"  he  cried. 

"Because  I  feel  it.     There!" 

"I  wish  /  could  feel  it,"  he  grinned  de- 
jectedly. 

"  I  just  know  it,"  I  insisted. 

"A  case  of  woman's  intuition,  eh?" 

"I  suppose  so — yes;  but  I  do  know  it- 
just  the  same." 

"  W-e-11,"  he  said  slowly,  reflectively,  "may- 
be you  do,  but  /  don't;  and  that's  what  wor- 
ries me.     The  thing  looks  crooked  enough  to 
me.     Why,    Marjory,"    -  argumentatively,— 
"the   idea   of    Morse   and    Walsh  having  a 

305 


second  option  on  that  property  is  absurd, 
preposterous.  Morse  is  just  a  clerk  in 
Klein's  employ,  and  he  hasn't  a  dollar; 
and—" 

"But  Mr.  Walsh  has,"  I  interrupted  val- 
iantly. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "Walsh  may  have 
money — lots  of  it;  I  don't  know.  He's  a 
politician,  a  hanger-on  of  the  city  adminis- 
tration. But  here  are  the  objections — to  me : 
Why  should  Klein  give  an  option  to  his  own 
employee,  Morse?  And  why  should  Walsh  go 
in  with  Morse — the  latter  having  no  money? 
And  how  did  they  happen  into  the  restau- 
rant at  the  opportune  time— and  happen  to 
take  seats  right  where  you  could  overhear 
what  they  said?  And,  above  all,  why  were 
they  so  incautious — in  so  important  a  mat- 
ter? It  all  looks  bad — to  me."  -Then,  shak- 
ing his  head  and  sighing  heavily : — "  And  the 
Journal  can't  be  mistaken;  it's  not  guesswork 
with  them.  No,  my  fifty  thousand  has  gone 
glimmering,  little  girl;  but," — brightening, 
with  a  too  evident  effort, — "I'm  not  going 
to  worry — not  going  to  worry  like  I  was  just 
before  you  came  in,  anyhow." 

306 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

And  he  gave  me  the  oddest,  shame-faced 
side  glance. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  I  inquired  uncon- 
cernedly. 

He  squirmed  uneasily,  Nell,  and  his  hand- 
some face  flushed  a  dull  red ;  and  I  wondered 
what  was  coming. 

"Marjory,"  he  said  huskily,  "I've  got  a 
confession  to  make;  and  I  won't  feel  right 
till  I've  made  it.  Listen,  now;  and  don't 
interrupt — let  me  get  through  with  it  as  soon 
as  possible."  —What  on  earth  was  coming, 
Nell  Adams? — "  I  went  down  to  Newark  yes- 
terday and  met  Jim  Golden,  my  friend  from 
New  York.  It  took  him  but  a  few  minutes 
to  convince  me  that  the  Transylvania  com- 
pany wouldn't  decide  upon  the  contemplated 
enlargement  of  their  yards,  and  that  I  didn't 
want  the  Klein  property;  so  I  dismissed  the 
whole  thing  from  my  mind  and  gave  my  at- 
tention to  some  other  business.  It  was  late 
when  I  got  back  to  the  city  last  night;  and 
I  didn't  learn  a  thing  about  the  final  action 
of  the  Transylvania  and  what  you  had  done, 
till  I  came  to  the  office  this  morning.  Jones 
informed  me  of  your — your  rather  indiscreet 

307 


act,  as  soon  as  I  came  in;  and  I  was  amazed, 
thunderstruck.  I  didn't  know  what  to  think; 
I  couldn't  think  for  a  while.  I  just  slouched 
in  here  and  lopped  down  in  my  chair — com- 
pletely knocked  out.  I  tried  to  brace  up  and 
grapple  with  the  problem  of  why  you  had 
done  such  a  thing;  but  I  only  partially  suc- 
ceeded— and  I  couldn't  find  a  loose  end  to 
begin  on.  Then  you  didn't  come,  and  it  was 
time  for  you  to  be  here ;  and  an  hour  passed 
and  still  you  didn't  come,  and — and— 

He  paused,  shook  his  head  in  a  grave  and 
embarrassed  manner,  and  restlessly  drummed 
the  arm  of  his  chair  with  his  strong,  lean 
fingers. 

"And?"  I  queried,  interested,  but  little 
suspecting  what  was  coming. 

"And  then,"  he  resumed  resolutely,  "I— 
I  got  to  thinking — here's  the  confession,  the 
hard  part,  Marjie! — you  hadn't  committed 
an  unwitting  blunder,  but  had  willfully  proven 
false  to  the  trust  I  had  reposed  in  you;  got 
to  thinking  you  had  joined  Klein  and  Morse 
in  a  scheme,  to  swindle  me,  and — " 

"Mr.  Edward  Durbin!"  I  exclaimed,  sit- 
ting primly  and  sanctimoniously  erect. 

308 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Don't  say  a  word!"  he  muttered,  gritting 
his  firm,  white  teeth.  "You  can't  say  what 
ought  to  be  said  of  me;  you  can't  swear! 
I'll  just  say  this  one  thing  in  extenuation  of 
my  unexampled  assininity,  though:  I  guess 
my  jealousy  led  me  to  think  as  I  did." — His 
jealousy,  eh?  Nell,  I  began  to  feel  right  good, 
for  the  moment! — "I  thought  of  your  inti- 
macy with  Morse,  and  of  Morse  being  in  the 
employ  of  Klein,  and  of  Klein's  peculiar  ac- 
tions here  at  the  office,  and  of  your  delay  in 
putting  in  an  appearance — till  I  got  to  think- 
ing you  weren't  coming  back  at  all;  got  to 
thinking  Klein  had  divided  up  with  Morse 
and  you,  and  that  you  two  had  skipped ;  got 
to  thinking— oh,  the  devil ! — got  to  thinking  all 
sorts  of  insane  things.  And  I  was  surprised 
when  you  came;  I  was  honestly.  Now!" 

I  just  sat  and  looked  at  him,  Sweet  Nell 
of  old  Oberlin;  and  never  said  a  word  in 
reply.  What  should  I  say — what  could  I  say? 
What  was  there  for  me  to  say — me  who  had 
lost  him  fifty  thousand  dollars?  But  how 
should  I  feel  toward  him?  That  question  was 
more  pertinent;  but  no  more  easily  met  and 
solved,  I  found.  Should  I  feel  hurt — and 

309 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

hate  him,  feel  outraged — and  despise  him? 
Or  should  I  accept  his  plea  that  his  unpar- 
donably  poor  opinion  of  me  and  his  want  of 
trust  in  me  were  due  to  temporary  aberra- 
tion of  mind  occasioned  by  mad  and  unrea- 
soning jealousy?  In  one  sense  that  was 
flattering  to  me,  Nell;  in  another  it  wasn't 
so  flattering.  Maybe  Ned's  mean  thoughts 
were  due  to  jealousy,  though,  I  argued  with 
myself;  for  men  will  do  and  think  such  silly 
things,  when  jealous!  So  I  sat  thinking  and 
staring,  and  staring  and  thinking. 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Marjory!"  he 
cried,  hitching  his  chair  closer  in  front  of  me 
and  bending  forward  and  seizing  both  my 
hands.  "I've  been  fair,  I've  told  you  just 
what  I  thought;  maybe  I  shouldn't  have  told 
you  at  all,  though.  But  I  couldn't  keep  from 
it;  I  felt  so  good  to  find  out  it  wasn't  so,  to 
find  out  you  just  blundered — and  in  trying  to 
do  me  a  good  turn.  Say  you  forgive  me ;  say 
you  do!" 

He  drew  me  toward  him  till  our  faces  were 
very  close  together, — the  big  lusty  fellow!— 
till  we  were  looking  into  each  other's  souls 
through  each  other's  eyes. 

310 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Say  it!"  he  commanded,  compelling  me 
with  his  gaze  and  touch. 

"I  forgive  you,  Ned,"  I  barely  whispered. 

Then  he  put  his  arm  around  me  and  kissed 
me.  It  may  be  that  he  kissed  me  more  than 
once,  old  chum;  my  recollection  is  a  little  hazy. 

And,  for  the  moment,  every  care  and  worry 
left  me;  and  I  was  a-flutter  with  bliss  and 
happiness. 

"Marjory,"  he  whispered  tenderly,  "I 
love—" 

He  had  just  got  that  far,  Nell,  when  I  gave 
a  little  screech  and  jump  and  pulled  away 
from  him.  The  thought  that  I  had  lost  him 
fifty  thousand  dollars — just  think  of  the  sum ! 
— struck  me  like  a  chill  wind  in  the  face.  For 
the  first  time  the  full  enormity  of  my  blun- 
der appeared  to  me  and  appealed  to  me. 
Fifty  thousand  dollars!  Ned  could  never 
forget  it,  he  would  always  remember  it 
against  me;  let  him  strive  as  he  would,  the 
thought  of  the  loss  of  that  much  money 
would  always  be  with  him.  And  /  had  done 
it;  /  had  caused  him  to  lose  it! 

"What's  the  matter,  Marjory?"  he  asked 
in  keen  and  quick  concern. 

311 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

I  burst  into  tears.  He  tried  to  caress  me, 
to  ascertain  what  ailed  me;  but  I  drew  far- 
ther away  from  him,  and  refused  to  be  con- 
soled. Oh,  I  was  so  nervous,  so  miserable, 
so  unhappy!  And  right  when  I  ought  to 
have  been  rejoicing  over  his  declaration  of 
love,  Nell  Adams — think  of  that! 

After  a  little  boohoo,  I  calmed  myself  and 
told  Mr.  Ned — my  Ned ! — just  how  I  felt  about 
the  matter.  He  tried  to  laugh  me  out  of  the 
notion — the  big  good-natured  boy! — but  I 
could  see  he  didn't  feel  much  like  laughing; 
it  was  an  effort  for  him.  What  man  can 
laugh  unrestrainedly,  that  has  just  lost  fifty 
thousand  dollars! 

"Now,  Marjory/'  he  said  to  me,  "not  an- 
other word  of  the  kind — on  the  subject.  Of 
course  fifty  thousand  plunks  is  quite  a  sum," 
• — I  winced,  Nell! — "but  I  think  what  I've 
got  in  exchange  for  it,  as  it  were,  if  I 
have  got  what  I  think  I've  got,"-— beaming 
upon  me, — "is  worth  the  price.  It's  true" 
—his  face  momentarily  clouding, — "  I'm  com- 
pletely cleaned  out," — again  I  winced!— 
"for  I've  got  to  lose  the  whole  thing  my- 
self; I  won't  let  father  lose  a  cent  of  it. 

312 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

But  I  can  start  in  at  the  bottom  of  the  lad- 
der again/' — once  more  I  flinched  and  shud- 
dered, and  felt  the  blood  flowing  cold  through 
my  heart!  What  blundering,  thoughtless, 
cruel  animals  men  are,  Nell  Adams! — "and 
maybe,  if  the  rungs  aren't  too  slippery,  I 
can  climb— 

"Oh,  don't!"  I  wailed  dismally,  weeping 
afresh.  "Don't  say  any  more,  Mr.  Ned — 
Ned!  Don't — don't — don't!  And  I'm  nerv- 
ous— I'm  sick;  I  can't  think  of  work  to-day, 
and  I  want  to  go  to  my  rooms,  and  rest  and 
sleep — and  never — never  wake  up!" 

"There — there!"  he  said  soothingly.  "I 
see  you're  all  upset.  Well,  go  to  your  rooms; 
and  .don't  come  back  till  to-morrow,  if  you 
don't  feel  like  it.  You'll  be  all  right  by  that 
time,  Marjory." 

He  put  his  arm  around  me  and  tenderly 
kissed  me;  but  I  didn't  appreciate  his  ca- 
resses. I  was  too  wretched!  And  I  went 
shuffling  and  stumbling  from  the  office,  my 
eyes  blinded  with  tears! 


313 


XIV. 

I  WENT  straight  to  my  rooms,  threw  myself 
upon  my  bed  and  tried  to  compose  myself  to 
sleep.  But  a  half-hour's  miserable  struggle 
with  my  tense  nerves  convinced  me  that  my 
resolves  and  re-resolves  and  efforts  and  re- 
newed efforts  were  worse  than  useless;  and 
I  got  up  to  think  the  thing  all  over — to  fight 
the  battle  out  on  my  feet. 

Up  and  down  and  round  and  round,  I  paced 
and  pouted — like  a  naughty  kid  locked  up 
for  punishment! — looking  out  this  window 
and  then  out  that,  and  sniffling  and  knuckling 
my  fists  into  my  eyes.  I  was  simply  desper- 
ate, Nell  mine — nervously  insane  and  insanely 
nervous.  But  at  last  I  quieted  down,  and 
sat  down  to  think — to  think  rationally,  I  flat- 
tered myself. 

What  had  I  done!  Lost  Ned  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars?  7  didn't  believe  it;  but  he  did. 
Aye,  there  was  the  rub!  And,  of  course,  he 
might  be  right.  And  if  he  were — oh,  if  he 
were!  Well,  it  was  done,  if  it  was  done;  and 

314 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  couldn't  help  it — now.  But  could  I  ever 
go  back  to  that  office  to  work?  The  mere 
thought  of  doing  so  made  me  shudder!  No, 
I  couldn't — and  I  wouldn't!  But  what  would 
I  do?  I'd  just  pack  my  things  and  run  away; 
that's  what  I'd  do.  But  Ned  loved  me — Ned 
loved  me!  And  he  had  forgiven  me  and  as- 
sured me  he  didn't  care  for  the  loss  of  the 
money.  But  I  knew  he  did — oh,  I  knew  he 
did!  And  I  couldn't  go  back — I  couldn't— 
I  wouldn't!  No,  I'd  run  away — away  off 
where  Ned  would  never  find  me,  would  never 
hear  of  me  again.  But,  oh! — oh! — /  loved 
Ned !  And  could  I  go  away  and  leave  him— 
and  never  see  him  again?  Ah !  could  I — could 
I?  I  must — that  was  all  there  was  to  it! 

And,  Nell  Adams,  I  got  out  the  new  suit- 
case I  had  bought  a  few  days  before, — a  bar- 
gain I  had  picked  up! — and  resolutely  began 
to  pack  my  few  things! 

But  where  was  I  going?  It  didn't  matter. 
Anywhere!  Anywhere,  to  get  away  from 
Columbus!  Anywhere!  Chicago,  Cincinnati 
—anywhere!  I  tell  you,  old  chum,  I  was 
desperate — irresponsible,  I  guess. 

When  I  had  tumbled  my  meager  effects 

315  « 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

into  my  suit-case, — ruthlessly  tossing  aside 
everything  of  little  value, — I  snapped  the 
catches  and  turned  the  key;  and  heaved  a 
sigh  of  partial  relief.  I  had  come  to  a  de- 
cision; and  I  felt  a  little  better.  Then  I 
bathed  my  face  and  smoothed  my  hair,  and 
put  on  my  hat  and  wrap.  Finally  I  glanced 
at  my  watch, — it  was  eleven-forty-five,  I  re- 
member,— took  a  last  look  at  my  cosy  rooms, 
and  caught  up  my  suit-case  and  scooted  down 
the  stairs.  And  a  few  minutes  later  I  was 
on  a  car  arid  on  my  way  to  the  Union  depot. 

The  car  stopped,  and  I  got  off  and  hurried 
to  the  sidewalk.  I  was  so  strung  up  I  couldn't 
do  anything  except  with  a  rush.  The  big 
depot  was  before  me — forbidding,  depress- 
ing; and  I  trembled,  and  shrunk  within  my- 
self. The  dusky,  gloomy  arches  made  me 
shiver;  the  smell  of  smoke  and  steam  made 
me  faint.  But  I  stoically  held  on  my  way; 
and  soon  was  within  the  vast  waiting-room 
—and  utterly  lonely  and  sick  at  heart  in  the 
stirring  throng. 

Directly  to  the  intelligence-office  I  went, 
and  inquired — dry  sobs  interfering  with  my 
speech : 

316 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"When  does  the — the  next  train  leave  for 
-for  Chicago?" 

The  answer  I  received  did  not  accord  with 
my  desires;  so  I  asked: 

"  And  when  does  the  next  train  leave  for 
Cincinnati?" 

The  young  man  behind  the  desk  looked 
up  at  me,  curiously,  admiringly,  a  telephone 
receiver  to  his  ear,  and  returned: 

"Over  which  road?" 

"Over  any  road,"  I  replied. 

"  There'll  be  a  train  over  the  Big  Four  about 
one-thirty-five ;  it's  the  nine-fifty-five  behind 
time— delayed  by  a  wreck." 

"Thank  you,"  I  murmured,  and  turned 
away. 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  Cincin- 
nati. 

I  bought  my  ticket;    then  dropped  into  a 
seat  near  the  center  of  the  great  room,  my 
suit-case  at  my  feet,  and  gave  myself  up  to 
idle  thought  and  purposeless  observation— 
as   nearly    as   I   could.     Oh,    how    lonely— 
how  lost   I   felt!    The  people   kept   coming 
and    going — coming  and  going,  and  jostling 
and  elbowing,  and  talking  and  gesticulating; 

317 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and,  as  one  in  a  dream,  I  stupidly  watched 
them  and  listened  to  them.  I  wondered 
carelessly,  dumbly,  where  this  one  lived  and 
what  that  one's  business  was;  and  I  wished 
I  could  quit  seeing  them,  quit  hearing 
them — wished  I  were  in  some  cabin  in  the 
trackless  woods,  all  by  my  little  lonesome 
self,  Nell.  For  I  was  so  tired,  so — so  home- 
sick; and,  all  at  once,  I  found  myself  think- 
ing about  old  Chesterville  and  its  quiet  streets, 
about  Jack  and  Aunt  Dodo.  And  my  lips 
would  quiver  and  the  dry  sobs  would  come; 
and  I  felt  myself  longing  to  go  back  to  the 
old  place — to  the  old  forms  and  faces. 

That  made  me  mad,  Nell  Adams — to  find 
I  /was  still  such  a  silly  baby ! — and  I  angrily 
shook  myself;  and  immediately  resolved  I 
wouldn't  go  back  there — and  I  wouldn't  ever 
see  Ned  again — and  I  wouldn't  ever  see  any- 
body again,  that  I  had  ever  known.  No,  in- 
deed! I  was  going  to  lose  myself  and  my 
identity  in  some  big  city,  bigger  than  Colum- 
bus —  Cincinnati,  probably.  Yes,  Marjory 
Dawes  should  die,  and  Sarah  Grimes  should 
die;  and  neither  should  be  resurrected  or  re- 
membered. 

318 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

And  then  I  found  my  eyes  moist  with  tears 
of  self  pity;  and  I  was  madder  than  ever — 
mad  in  good  earnest,  I  tell  you.  I  just  stamped 
my  foot  and  vowed  I  wouldn't;  and  I  didn't 
— any  more. 

I  kept  watching  the  clock  and  wishing  my 
train  would  come.  The  hour  hand  passed 
one;  and  I  began  to  listen  to  the  train-crier 
every  time  he  came  in.  Then,  all  at  once, 
my  attention  was  arrested  by  a  young  woman 
entering  the  room  from  the  direction  of  the 
street.  I  couldn't  help  but  observe  her  as 
she  came  tripping  along,  swinging  her  suit- 
case and  swelling  with  self-confidence  and 
self-assertiveness ;  for  her  plaid  coat  closely 
resembled  the  one  I  had  on  and  her  hat  was 
very  much  like  my  own.  That  much  I  no- 
ticed as  she  passed  me  on  her  way  to  the 
ticket-window;  also,  I  noticed  that  she  gave 
me  a  swift  glance — and  smiled  a  peculiar 
little  smile. 

I  watched  her  buy  her  ticket,  idly,  numbly 
speculating  as  to  who  she  was  and  where  she 
was  going.  When  she  turned  from  the  win- 
dow, she  surprised  me  by  coming  directly  to 
me  and  taking  a  seat  at  my  side. 

319 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"I  thought  I'd  sit  down  here  and  make 
your  acquaintance,"  she  said  in  an  easy, 
natural  way,  with  a  smile  that  lighted  her 
whole  face — and  completely  disarmed  me. 
"We  might  be  twins — judging  from  the  sim- 
ilarity of  our  dress  and  not  from  the  similar- 
ity of  our  looks.  I  noticed  you  as  I  passed 
you — how  much  your  coat  and  hat  are  like 
my  own;  and  I  had  to  grin." 

She  laughed  a  little  laugh  that  was  pleas- 
ant to  hear. 

"Yes?"  I  succeeded  in  saying,  trying  to 
show  interest. 

"And  I  declare!" — exclamatorily. 

"What?"  I  inquired. 

"Why,  our  suit-cases  are  just  alike." 

She  clapped  her  gloved  hands  gleefully. 

"So  they  are,"  I  admitted  apathetically. 

I  wished  she  would  move  away  and  leave 
me  to  my  gloomy  self  and  gloomier  thoughts. 

She  was  about  my  size;  but  didn't  look  at 
all  like  me.  Her  eyes  were  blue;  her  hair 
auburn  and  fluffy;  her  nose  roguishly  tip- 
tilted  and  blessed  with  a  few  freckles. 

"Which  way  're  you  traveling?"  she  said. 

"By  rail,"  I  replied  coldly. 

320 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"  Good ! "  she  giggled.  "  But  where  are  you 
going?" 

What  impertinence!  But,  somehow,  the 
frank  smile  accompanying  the  question 
robbed  me  of  resentment. 

"I'm  going  to  Cincinnati,"  I  answered. 

"Going  on  the  next  train — the  Big  Four?" 
she  persisted. 

"Yes." 

"So  am  I — as  far  as  Dayton.  It's  a  good 
thing  for  me  the  train's  late;  I — I — well,  it 
just  happens  to  suit  me." 

Then  she  sat  silent,  restlessly  plucking  at 
the  buttons  of  her  coat.  I  quietly  observed 
her.  Apparently  she  was  absorbed  in  thought; 
but  I  soon  learned  that  she  was  alert,  watch- 
ful— aware  of  all  that  was  going  on  about 
her.  What  was  the  meaning  of  her  strange 
actions?  Who  was  she?  I  was  interested; 
and  I  lost  myself  and  my  troubles  in  hazy 
speculation. 

Suddenly  I  saw  her  give  a  little  start  and 
shoot  a  swift,  sly  glance  toward  the  news- 
stand in  a  far  corner.  I  leveled  my  gaze 
toward  that  quarter;  but  noted  nothing  of 
an  interesting  or  exciting  nature^  except— 

321 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

except — yes,  a  man  was  leaning  against  the 
angle  of  the  wall  and  furtively  observing  us. 
Observing  us — her — me?  Who  was  he  watch- 
ing? I  couldn't  tell;  but  I  wished  I  could. 
He  was  a  little  wizzened  man,  very  dark; 
and  he  was  enveloped  in  a  long  shaggy  over- 
coat and  wore  a  nappy  cap  pulled  low  over 
his  eyes. 

Again  I  turned  my  attention  to  my  com- 
panion. She  grinned  at  me — a  pert  and  reck- 
less little  grin. 

"See  him?"  she  whispered,  barely  moving 
her  lips. 

"See  whom?"  I  breathed  softly  in  reply. 

"That  man  over  by  the  news-stand." 

"Yes.     Why?" 

"Darn  him!" 

"  What !" —pretending  to  be  shocked. 

"Yes,  darn  him!"— her  eyes  dancing.— 
"He's  watching  me." 

"Ah?" 

"Yes,  he  is." 

I  didn't  know  what  else  to  say,  Nell;  so  I 
said  nothing.  My  companion  was  silent  a 
moment;  then  she  whispered: 

"What  time  is  it,  please?" 

322 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"  One-twenty/'  I  answered,  glancing  at  the 
clock  upon  the  wall.  I  didn't  offer  to  consult 
my  watch;  and  my  companion  noted  the  fact, 
smiled  a  contemptuous  smile — and  tittered : 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid!     I'm  not  try- 
ing to  swipe  your  watch.     I'm  not  that  kind 
—any  more  than  you  are." — Then,  abruptly: 
-"Say!" 

"What?"— coldly,  calmly. 

"Will  you  do  something  for  me?" 

"I  don't  know.  What  do  you  want  me 
to  do?" 

"I  want  you  to  throw  that  man  off  the 
track." 

"Off  the  track?" 

"Yes;   off  my  track." 

"Off  your  track?" 

"Yes.  He's  followed  me  down  here;  and 
he's  spying  on  me.  No!" — smilingly  shak- 
ing her  head, — "I  can't  tell  you  why  he's 
doing  it;  that's  a  secret.  But  I  want  to 
take  that  Big  Four  train,  for  Dayton;  and 
I  don't  want  him  to  know  it.  Now,  will  you 
help  me  to  throw  him  off  my  track?" 

"I  -  -  don't  -  -  know,"  -  -  thoughtfully .- 
"Is— is— he— " 

323 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Yes,  he's  a  private  detective." 

"And?" 

"No;  I  haven't  committed  any  crime — yet, 
at  any  rate.  You  needn't  be  afraid ;  you  won't 
get  into  any  trouble.  Will  you  help  me?" 

"How  can  I?" 

"I'll  tell  you.  That  fellow  doesn't  know 
me;  he's  just  spotted  me  by  my  clothes,  I'm 
certain.  And  this  very  moment  he's  puz- 
zling his  head  which  one  to  watch — me  or 
you.  See?  Now,  I've  got  to  throw  him  off 
the  track — or  not  take  the  train.  Here's  my 
plan;  not  a  very  good  one — but  all  the  one 
I  can  think  of.  You  take  your  suit-case  and 
leave  the  place,  as  if  you  were  going  up  street. 
Maybe  he'll  think  you're  the  one  he's  been 
sent  to  watch — think  you've  given  up  going 
on  the  train,  and  will  follow  you.  And,  if  he 
does,  that  will  give  me  a  chance  to  slip  into 
the  lunch-room  and  hide  till  the  gates  are 
thrown  open.  Then  maybe  I  can  slip  out 
with  the  crowd,  without  him  seeing  me. 
Catch  on?" 

"Yes.     But  what  shall  I—" 

"You'll  just  turn  the  corner,  as  soon  as 
you  get  outside,  and  come  back  in  here.  If 

324 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

he  follows  you,  he'll  see  you  do  it;  and  he'll 
know  at  once,  of  course,  that  you're  not  the 
one  he's  after — know  we've  tried  to  trick  him, 
and  he'll  drop  you  and  begin  to  look  for  me. 
If  you're  going  to  do  it,  though,  be  off;  for 
we've  only  got  a  few  minutes." 

I  hesitated  a  fraction  of  a  second;  then 
caught  up  my  suit-case  and  made  for  the 
exit  toward  the  street,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  the  left.  Don't  ask  me  why  I  did 
it,  Nell  Adams!  Did  you  ever  know  me  to 
be  able  to  give  a  reason  for  my  erratic  de- 
cisions and  actions?  I  decided  on  the  im- 
pulse of  the  moment — that's  all;  why,  I  don't 
know. 

As  soon  as  I  was  through  the  doors,  I 
turned  the  corner  to  the  right  and  sauntered 
leisurely  along  to  the  side  entrances.  There 
I  stopped  a  moment  and  looked  down  upon 
the  tracks — and  glanced  over  my  shoulder  to 
see  if  the  man  in  the  shaggy  overcoat  had 
followed  me.  But  he  was  not  in  sight.  So 
I  pushed  open  a  door  and  re-entered  the  wait- 
ing-room. 

One  comprehensive  look  showed  me  that 
our  ruse  had  failed — signally,  utterly.  The 

325 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

detective  still  stood  leaning  against  the  angle 
of  the  wall — grinning  a  nasty,  sarcastic  grin; 
and  my  companion  still  sat  where  I  had  left 
her — in  a  dejected,  huddled  heap. 

"It  didn't  work,"  I  whispered  as  I  dropped 
upon  the  bench  at  her  side. 

"No,"  she  murmured,  slowly  shaking  her 
head;  "and  I've  got  to  give  up  going — on 
this  train,  anyhow.  I  thank  you,  just  the 
same." — Then,  perkily: — "Darn  that  man!" 

Nell,  bad  as  I  felt — for  her  and  for  myself — • 
I  had  to  laugh!  She  caught  the  infection,  and 
began  to  giggle ;  and  we  both  buried  our  faces 
in  our  handkerchiefs  and  teeheed  outright. 

"I  might  as  well  be  off,"  she  said,  wiping 
her  eyes;  "that  detective  means  to  stick  to 
me — like  lint  to  a  wool  skirt.  There's  your 
train  coming  now,  I  guess;  and  I  wish  it  were 
mine.  But  better  luck  next  time.  Well, 
goodbye — and  good  luck  to  you." 

"Goodbye,"  I  responded,  giving  her  my 
hand. 

She  seized  her  suit-case,  gave  me  a  parting 
smile  and  left  me — going  toward  the  street 
exit;  and  the  detective  grinned  and  shuffled 
after  her — keeping  a  few  yards  behind  her. 

326 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

My  train  rolled  in;  and  the  crier  called  it. 
I  ran  the  gauntlet  of  gatekeepers  and  guards, 
tripped  down  the  steps,  and  scrambled  aboard 
and  secured  a  comfortable  seat.  Away  we 
went,  running  like  mad — making  up  lost  time. 
The  scenery  flitting  past  my  window  was  not 
inviting;  so  I  cuddled  down,  with  my  head 
upon  my  arm  and  my  arm  upon  the  sill,  and 
quickly  fell  asleep. 

"Dayton!" 

It  was  the  brakeman  bawling;  and  I  awoke 
with  a  start — and  sat  up  with  a  jerk. 

"Dayton!"  the  smut-faced  fellow  repeated. 

I  rearranged  my  hair  and  readjusted  my 
skirts,  and  yawned — really  gaped  a  prolonged 
and  spasmodic  gape,  Nell !  —  and  looked 
through  the  window  at  the  panorama  of 
shabby  houses  and  vacant  lots  and  gaudy 
bill-boards.  Why  is  it,  I'd  like  to  know, 
that  every  railroad  enters  every  city  on  said 
railroad's  line,  through  said  city's  most  un- 
inviting and  disreputable  suburbs?  Echo 
wails — "why,"  Nell  Adams! 

We  rolled  into  the  attractive  little  union 
depot.  Abstractedly  I  sat  gazing  out  at 
rumbling  trucks  and  tumbling  trunks,  and 

327 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

people  hurrying  this  way  and  that — appar- 
ently without  order  or  purpose;  and  my 
thoughts  were  far,  far  away — and  sad  enough. 
Then,  of  a  sudden,  my  attention  was  at- 
tracted and  held  by  a  man  peeping  through 
the  iron  fence  separating  the  depot  enclosure 
from  the  tracks.  He  was  looking  straight  at 
me.  Our  eyes  met;  and  immediately  he 
beckoned  me.  At  least  I  thought  he  was 
beckoning  me;  he  was  beckoning  somebody, 
sure — and  he  was  looking  right  at  me.  The 
impudent  scoundrel!  I  wouldn't  pay  any 
more  attention  to  him;  and  I  turned  away 
my  face — and  then  peeked  at  him  slyly,  out 
of  the  corners  of  my  eyes! 

Well,  of  all  things,  Sweet  Nell!  As  soon 
as  he  again  caught  my  glance,  he  began 
to  beckon  me,  impatiently,  frantically,  grim- 
acing and  vigorously  nodding  his  head.  What 
on  earth  ailed  the  fellow?  Was  he  drunk  or 
crazy — or  both — or  what?  And  did  he  mean 
me — or  somebody  else  in  the  car?  I  turned 
to  look.  No,  there  was  no  one  behind  me. 
Then  he  must  mean  me.  But  what  did  the 
silly  man  want— what  could  he  want? 

Once  more  I  granted  him  my  attention; 

328 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and  once  more  he  made  a  beckoning  motion 
with  his  hand  and  grimaced  and  nodded— 
more  frantically,  more  wildly,  than  ever. 
Then  he  pointed  toward  the  gate,  and  then 
at  me — and  threatened  to  jerk  his  head  off, 
he  nodded  so  rapidly. 

Unconsciously,  almost,  I  touched  my  breast 
with  the  tip  of  my  fore  finger  and  slightly 
inclined  my  head;  and  the  fellow  went  daffy 
with  delight,  apparently,  and  bobbed  till  his 
derby  hat  fell  off.  He  was  a  big,  pursy,  red- 
faced  man;  and  I  fancied  I  could  hear  him 
grunt  as  he  stooped  to  recover  his  headgear. 
Keeping  an  eye  on  me  and  motioning  me  to 
come,  he  moved  toward  the  gate.  It  was 
plain  enough  what  he  desired.  But  what 
did  it  mean;  and  what  should  I  do?  Pas- 
sengers were  crowding  into  the  car.  I  was 
in  a  stew,  I  tell  you,  Nell! 

Then  a  thought,  an  idea,  came  to  me — like 
a  flash  of  white  light  in  dense  darkness.  Ned 
had  learned  of  my  departure  from  Columbus, 
had  ascertained  what  train  I  took,  and  had 
telegraphed  or  telephoned  someone  at  Day- 
ton to  entice  me  off  the  car  and  hold  me 
until  his  arrival.  That  was  it — that  was  it, 

329 


exactly!  Well,  it  wouldn't  work,  I  assured 
myself.  I  wasn't  going  back  to  Ned — dear 
Ned! — my  Ned! — then  or  ever;  I  was  going 
on — on — on!  But  maybe  Ned  would  do  some- 
thing desperate  if  he  didn't  get  me  back — if 
I  didn't  go  back.  The  thought  was  compli- 
mentary but  disquieting.  Maybe — maybe  he 
would  commit  suicide.  That  thought  was 
flattering  but  startling.  Oo-h!  Maybe  he 
had  committed  suicide — and  Mr.  Durbin  had 
sent  word  to  have  me  taken  from  the  train. 
And  that  thought  was  idiotic  but  alarming, 
dreadful,  maddening.  In  a  moment  I  had 
convinced  myself  that  that  was  just  what 
had  happened;  and  in  another  moment  I 
had  my  suit-case  in  my  hand  and  was  mak- 
ing my  way  from  the  car.  Call  me  silly,  fool- 
ish, crazy — what  you  will,  Nell;  I  was  all 
that,  and  more — I  admit  it.  But  I  couldn't 
help  it.  I  had  wearied  and  worried  till  I 
hadn't  any  sense  left. 

As  I  descended  the  steps  of  the  car,  the 
bell  began  to  ring  for  the  train  to  start.  I 
saw  the  big  pursy  man  at  the  gate,  nervously 
rubbing  his  palms  together  and  shuffling  his 
feet. 

330 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Miss  Dawes?"  he  whispered  inquiringly, 
bending  toward  me  as  I  came  up  to  him.  At 
least  that's  what  I  thought  he  said. 

I  nodded ;  and  he  snatched  my  suit-case  from 
my  hand,  caught  me  by  the  arm  and  uncere- 
moniously hurried  me  toward  the  open  space 
at  the  far  end  of  the  depot.  I  was  shaking 
so  I  could  hardly  walk.  My  suspicions  were 
confirmed — my  surmises  were  correct,  then; 
Ned  or  Mr.  Durbin  had  sent  word  to  have  me 
stopped.  But,  oh! — had  Ned  done — done 
something  awful? 

"Did— did  you  hear  from  Columbus?"  I 
ventured  to  ask  my  portly  conductor. 

"Sure!"  he  muttered,  according  me  a  won- 
dering glance.  Then  he  stopped  suddenly, 
scowled  fiercely  and  growled: 

"  It's  all  right  to  be  cautious,  young  woman; 
but  you  came  pretty  near  being  too  d — well, 
overly  cautious.  I  thought  I  was  going  to 
have  to  appeal  to  the  gate-keeper  to  let  me 
through — to  get  you  off  the  train.  And  that 
might  have  balled  up  things  good  and  proper; 
for  the  other  side's  next — and  on  the  watch. 
Why  didn't  you  come  as  soon  as  I  motioned 
to  you?" 

331 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  didn't  know  why  I  hadn't  come  as  soon 
as  he  beckoned  me,  Nell — as  I  didn't  know 
why  I  had  come  at  all;  and,  in  addition— 
and  far  more  important,  I  didn't  know  what 
in  the  world  he  meant  by  his  hints  in  regard 
to  caution,  and  all  that.  And  I  felt  like  tell- 
ing him  so,  frankly ;  but  something  prompted 
me  to  keep  mum  on  that  particular  point. 
So,  instead  of '  replying  to  his  question,  I 
queried  cautiously: 

"Was  it  Ned  you  heard  from — or — or  his 
father?" 

"Huh!"  he  chuckled,  shaking  his  head.  "I 
don't  know  anything  about  Ned  or  his  father 
— or  his  sisters  and  his  cousins  and  his  aunts. 
All  I  know  is  the  boys  just  sent  me  down 
here  in  an  auto,  to  get  you,  young  woman." 

"The  boys!"  I  gasped,  trying  to  draw  away 
from  him.  "  What  boys — who — what  do  you 
mean?" 

"Oh,  come  off!"  he  grinned.  "You're  fly, 
all  right;  but  there's  no  need  in  trying  to 
fool  me.  You  know  who  sent  after  you. 
Here's  the  auto.  Let  me  help  you  in." 

"But— but— "  I  tried  to  object. 

"In  you  go,"  he  broke  in  upon  me. 

332 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

And  with  the  words  he  whirled  me  around 
and  gave  me  a  boost  that  landed  me  plump 
in  the  rear  seat,  on  the  far  side  of  the  vehicle. 
Then,  before  I  had  recovered  sufficiently  from 
my  surprise  and  shock,  to  say  a  word  in  pro- 
test, he  had  piled  himself  at  my  side — with 
my  suit-case  upon  his  knees. 

"  All  ready,"  he  said  to  the  chauffeur,  giving 
that  individual  a  curt  nod. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  I  cried. 

"  Shut  up ! "  my  companion  growled.  "  Don't 
attract  attention  to  us ;  keep  still.  And  what's 
the  use  of  keeping  up  the  game?  You  know 
what's  what — and  where  you're  going." 

I  just  gave  up,  Nell  mine,  and  sank  back 
in  dumb  and  stoical  despair.  I  didn't  care 
what  it  all  meant;  I  didn't  care  what  became 
of  me!  I  was  too  far  exhausted,  nervously 
and  mentally,  I  guess,  to  realize  anything 
fully — to  do  anything  but  dully  wonder. 

Up  the  broad  and  beautiful  business  thor- 
oughfare we  sped,  and  far  out  into  the  resi- 
dence section.  At  last  we  stopped  in  front 
of  a  big  house  set  well  back  in  a  grove  of 
trees.  Its  walls  and  chimneys  were  of  dark-red 
brick.  An  iron  fence  with  an  arched  gateway 

333 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

surrounded  the  grounds;  and  a  broad  flag 
walk  and  well-worn  stone  steps  led  up  to 
the  front  door  of  the  venerable  pile.  I  gave 
an  involuntary  shiver,  Nell;  the  building 
looked  like  a  private  hospital  for  dope  fiends 
or  an  asylum  for  insane  folks! 

"Here  we  are,"  my  companion  muttered, 
speaking  for  the  first  time  since  leaving  the 
depot. 

He  rolled  over  and  dropped  to  the  ground. 
Then  he  grabbed  me, — literally  grabbed  me! 
— and  snatched  me  out  of  the  vehicle, — as  if 
I  were  a  bit  of  baggage! — and  set  me  down 
with  a  thump. 

"Now,  get  away  from  here,"  he  called  to 
the  chauffeur;  "  and  mind  you  forget  all  about 
this.  Understand?" 

A  pair  of  black  goggles  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  speaker  and  a  leather  cap  bobbed ; 
that  was  all.  Then  the  auto  rolled  away. 

Again  my  conductor  caught  up  my  suit- 
case and  caught  me — helpless  me,  Nell! — by 
the  arm. 

"  What  —  where  —  where  are  you  taking 
me?"  I  cried,  dimly  divining  that  something 
was  desperately  wrong. 

334 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Oh,  the  devil!"  he  grunted  roughly. 
"What  is  the  use  of  pretending?  Come  on!" 

He  hurried  me  along.  Apathetically  I  sub- 
mitted; and  soon  we  stood  in  the  upper  hall 
of  the  building,  and  my  conductor  was  rap- 
ping upon  a  closed  door. 

"Who's  there?"  demanded  a  coarse  voice 
within. 

"Me — Murphy,"  answered  my  guide. 

A  key  turned  in  the  lock;  and  the  door 
swung  partly  open.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
lamp-lighted  room  with  its  blinds  close  drawn, 
and  of  a  hairy  face  peeping  out  at  us.  Then 
the  door  swung  wide;  and  my  conductor 
pushed  me  across  the  threshold.  Dimly  I 
saw  a  number  of  men  sitting  before  me; 
dumbly  I  heard  the  door  shutting  behind  me ! 


335 


XV. 

YES,  there  I  was, — little  lone,  lorn  Marjory 
Dawes! — facing  a  roomful  of  strange  men.  I 
blinked  and  winked,  and  rubbed  my  eyes. 
The  air  was  hazy  with  tobacco  smoke  and 
redolent  with  liquor.  The  men  sat  staring 
at  me,  sprawling  in  various  attitudes  and 
placidly  smoking;  and  not  one  of  them  spoke, 
not  one  of  them  offered  me  a  chair,  even. 
And  I  was  ready  to  drop  in  my  tracks! 

What  awful  blunder  had  I  committed ;  what 
awful  situation  had  I  got  myself  into?  Was 
-I  dreaming  or  daffy?  Why  had  the  man  called 
Murphy  enticed  me  from  the  train;  and  why 
had  I  yielded  to  him?  And  why — why— 
why! 

My  heart  throbbed — and  threatened  to  stop; 
my  head  thumped — and  threatened  to  burst. 
Oh,  dear — dear — dear!  I  wanted  to  scream; 
and  couldn't  make  a  sound!  I  wanted  to 
turn  and  fly  from  the  place;  and  couldn't 
move  a  foot!  I  was  dumb,  numb — palsied, 
petrified ! 

336 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

Murphy  pushed  past  me,  flung  my  suit- 
case upon  the  floor  and  panted  pompously: 

"Here  she  is,  fellows;  and  here's  the  stuff." 

The  other  men  just  nodded  and  grunted 
ungraciously;  that  was  all  the  response  they 
made. 

Then  a  side  door  opened,  and  a  tall,  stoop- 
shouldered,  hatchet-faced  young  man  en- 
tered briskly,  a  roll  of  papers  in  his  hand. 
Catching  sight  of  me,  he  stopped  with  a 
jerk.  Then  he  swept  the  assembly  with  his 
eyes,  and  cried  angrily: 

"What  ails  you  unmannerly  devils?  Can't 
you  see  there's  a  lady  present?  Throw  away 
those  cursed  cigars,  and  open  the  door  and 
let  the  smoke  out.  Bosworth,  give  her  a 
chair.  You're  a  bunch  of  sweet-scented  po- 
sies— you  are! 

The  men  silently,  sullenly  obeyed  his  or- 
ders. I  dropped  wearily  into  the  chair  offered 
me.  The  young  man  went  behind  a  roll- top 
desk  in  the  corner,  and  there  busied  himself 
for  a  few  moments.  Then  he  came  around 
in  front  of  me  and  said: 

"Well,  I  see  you  got  here." 

I  looked  up  at  him.     He  was  smiling  a 

337 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

complacent,  self-satisfied  smile  that  exas- 
perated me,  maddened  me. 

"Got  here!"  I  snapped.  "I  was  brought 
here." 

"Brought  here?"  he  grinned,  intertwining 
his  slim  beringed  fingers  and  teetering  back 
and  forth  upon  heels  and  toes.  "Of  course; 
Murphy  brought  you  from  the  depot.  But 
you  got  that  far  yourself,  didn't  you,  Miss 
Graw?" 

Miss  Graw!  I  fairly  jumped,  Nell  Adams! 
And  the  young  man  looked  at  me  in  stupid 
amazement.  Miss  Graw!  A  shaft  of  light 
punctured  my  thick  skull,  entered  my  dull, 
dark  brain;  and  in  a  fraction  of  a  moment 
everything  was  bright  and  clear  as  noonday 
— everything  was  plain  and  simple  as  a-b-c. 
Miss  Graw!  That  was  what  the  pursy  and 
persistent  Murphy  had  called  me  at  the  depot, 
then;  and  not  Miss  Dawes,  as  I  had  thought. 
And  the  Miss  Graw  they  were  expecting— 
and  the  Miss  Graw  they  thought  me — was 
the  young  woman  I  had  met  in  the  depot 
at  Columbus.  Oh,  why  hadn't  I  thought 
of  that  at  once — when  Murphy  first  beck- 
oned me!  How  stupid  I  had  been  —  how 

338 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF    MARJORY 

unpardonably,  idiotically  stupid!  And  what 
horrible  fix  had  I  got  myself  into?  Oo-h! 
And  how  was  I  to  extricate  myself?  Should  I 
speak  out,  make  them  aware  of  our  mutual 
mistake,  our  mutual  blunder — Murphy's  and 
mine?  Or  should  I  keep  still — trust  to  blind 
luck?  Oh!  what  should  I  do?  I  didn't  know 
—I  couldn't  even  guess;  for  I  hadn't  the 
faintest  idea  of  why  they  were  expecting  Miss 
Graw— of  what  was  her  mission.  Nell  Adams 
— Nell  mine!  Was  ever  another  poor  silly 
girl  in  such  a  predicament! 

But  I  saw  I  must  do  something — say  some- 
thing; for  it  was  plain  the  young  man  was 
puzzling  over  my  prolonged  silence,  and  the 
other  men  were  looking  at  me,  curiously. 

"Yes,  I — I  got  here,  I — I  suppose,"  I  mur- 
mured, in  a  voice  barely  audible. 

"You  didn't  have  any  trouble,  did  you?" 
was  the  next  question. 

"N — o,"  I  responded  faintly,  "I — I  guess 
not." 

"Guess  not,"  he  laughed.  "Don't  you 
know?" 

"I  had  a — a  little  trouble,"  I  ventured. 

"You  did?"— excitedly.— "Where?" 

339 


All  the  other  men  sat  up — and  began  to 
take  notice. 

"At  Columbus,"  I  answered. 

"Indeed!"  the  young  man  exclaimed;  and 
his  elders  all  gravely  listened. 

"Yes,"  I  nodded. 

"What  was  it  like — what  happened?"  my 
inquisitor  demanded  eagerly. 

"A  detective  was  watching  me." 

"A  detective?" 

"Yes;  a  man,  at  any  rate." 

"Ah!"— sharply. 

And  several  other  "ahs"  and  sundry  other 
exclamations  sounded  throughout  the  room. 

"Describe  the  fellow,"  the  young  man  pur- 
sued. 

"He  was  a  little  man  with  dark  shriveled 
features,"  I  said;  "and  he  wore  a  loose  shaggy 
overcoat  and— 

"Gargle!"  grunted  Murphy.  "Just  his  de- 
scription exactly. 

"That's  who  it  was!"  chimed  in  several 
others. 

"  Well,  what  did  he  do?  "  inquired  the  young 
man. 

"He  didn't  do  anything,"  I  replied. 

340 


"No?" 

"No;    he  just  watched  me." 

"He  didn't  offer  to  arrest  you — or  any- 
thing like  that?" 

"No." 

"Did  he  see  you  leave  the  depot — did  he 
know  what  train  you  took?" 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Why  didn't  he — if  he  was  watching  you?" 

"He  wasn't  watching  me  then." 

"Oh!     How  was 'that?" 

"He  had  left  the  depot." 

"You  don't  say!" — evidently  greatly  sur- 
prised at  my  statement. — "  Why,  I  can't 
understand  why  he  should  do  that — when  he 
had  his  eye  on  you.  Did  you  throw  him  off 
the  track  some  way?" 

"No." 

"Maybe  he  wasn't  watching  you,  at  all." 

"Maybe  he  wasn't." 

"Well,  what  made  you  think  he  was?" 

"He  was  watching  me  or  the  girl  with 
me." 

"  The  girl  with  you?    What  do  you  mean?  " 

"There  was  a  girl  sitting  beside  me." 

"Oh!" 

341 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Yes." 

"And  you  don't  know  whether  the  man, 
Gargle,  was  watching  you  or  her — is  that  it?" 

"  I  guess  he  must  have  been  watching  her." 

"What!" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Why,  you  said  a  moment  ago  he  was 
watching  you." 

"Did  I?" —innocently,  sweetly. 

"Did  you?  To  be  sure  you  did.  You 
seem  to  be  sadly  mixed  up,  some  way.  Let's 
see  if  we  can't  get  this  thing  straightened  out. 
It's  important  that  we  understand  it — under- 
stand whether  you  were  watched  by  Gargle; 
and,  if  so,  whether  he  learned  your  destina- 
tion. Now,  what  makes  you  think  he  was 
watching  the  other  girl?" 

"She  said  he  was." 

"She  did?" 

"Yes." 

"What  was  he  watching  her  for?" 

"She  didn't  say." 

"Who  was  she?" 

"I  didn't  know  her." 

"And  she  didn't  tell  you  her  name?" 

"No." 

342 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Was  she  waiting  for  a  train?" 

"Yes." 

"What  train?" 

"The  one  I  came  on." 

"And  did  she  come  on  it?" 

"No." 

"No?" 

"No;  she  said  she  couldn't  come  on  it — 
because  the  man  was  watching  her." 

"Huh!"  snorted  the  man  called  Bosworth, 
evidently  perplexed  and  concerned;  and 
"huh!"  seconded  several  of  the  others. 

"Shut  up,  you  fellows!"  the  young  man 
cried  crossly.  Then,  to  me:  "What  became 
of  that  girl — that  young  woman?" 

"She  left  the  depot." 

"Then  what  did  Gargle— the  man— do?" 

"He  followed  her." 

"Well,  don't  that  beat  the  devil!"  ejacu- 
lated Murphy ;  and  several  of  his  cronies  ex- 
pressed their  opinion  that  it  did. 

"Say!"  cried  the  young  man,  exasperated. 
"Can't  you  fellows  keep  still?" 

He  nervously  patted  his  foot  and  was 
thoughtful,  for  a  few  seconds;  then  he 
looked  at  me, — quickly,  sharply, — and  said: 

343 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Did  that  young  woman  look  anything 
like  you,  Miss  Graw?" 

"No,  she  didn't,"  I  replied. 

Nell,  you'll  wonder  what  I  hoped  to  accom- 
plish by  my  deception  and  circumlocution. 
I  don't  know;  I've  never  been  able  to  find 
out.  I  guess  I  was  just  sparring  for  an  open- 
ing— as  our  sporting  friends  say.  I  guess  I 
didn't  want  those  men  to  know  what  a  little 
fool  I  had  been,  to  get  off  the  train  and  come 
there;  guess  I  just  wanted  them  to  go  on 
thinking  me  Miss  Graw.  Then,  I  scented 
mystery;  and,  I  suppose,  my  insatiate  curi- 
osity— the  bane  of  our  sex,  you  know! — im- 
pelled me  to  attempt  to  stick  my  nose  into  it. 

The  hatchet-faced  young  man  persisted: 

"Well,  was  she  dressed  like  you?" 

"Yes,"  I  admitted;  "she  wore  a  coat  and 
hat  very  much  like  mine." 

"Huh!"  grunted  the  man  called  Bosworth; 
and  "huh!"  grunted  two  or  three  of  the 
others. 

Murphy  cried:  "Boys,  Gargle  spotted  the 
wrong  girl!" 

"That's  what  he  did!"  chorused  several  of 
the  others. 

344 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Then  they  all  burst  out  laughing;  and 
laughed — and  continued  to  laugh,  boister- 
ously, uproariously.  And  the  young  man 
joined  them;  and  I  sat  and  smiled  at  the 
applause  I  was  receiving — and  studied  what 
I  should  give  them  for  an  encore. 

"Say!"  my  inquisitor  grinned  gleefully. 
"You're  all  right,  Miss  Graw — you  are!  Or- 
langer  couldn't  have  picked  a  better  girl  for 
the  job." — I  wondered  who  in  the  mischief 
Orlanger  could  be! — "You  just  sat  still  and 
let  Gargle  tag  off  after  the  wrong  party.  That 
was  good — good!  But," — his  face  clouding 
and  puckering, — "  I  wonder  who  the  other 
girl  could  be,  hey?  And  why  was  she  ex- 
pecting to  be  watched — and  afraid  to  take 
the.  train?  Well,  it  doesn't  make  any  dif- 
ference to  us;  you're  here — and  Gargle  didn't 
hound  you.  You  brought  the — the  stuff  with 
you,  of  course?" 

"I  brought  some  stuff,"  I  replied. 

"Some?     Didn't  you  bring  it  all?" 

All  the  men  were  very  alert  and,  appar- 
ently, very  much  concerned.  I  hardly  knew 
what  to  say. 

"Didn't  you?"  the  young  man  persisted. 

345 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Why,  y-e-s,  I — I  suppose  I  did,"  I  an- 
swered. 

Breezy  sighs  of  relief  and  satisfaction 
sounded  throughout  the  room. 

"  Well,  what  makes  you  act  so  queer  about 
the  thing,  Miss  Graw?"  the  young  man  pur- 
sued. 

"Nothing,"  I  explained;  "I  guess  I'm  just 
tired — and  hungry." 

"That's  so,  no  doubt,"  he  nodded.  "You 
haven't  had  any  supper,  of  course." 

"Nor  have  we,"  interjected  Bosworth,  with 
a  short  laugh. 

"Nor  I  haven't  had  any  lunch — any  din- 
ner," I  volunteered. 

"Heavens!"  ejaculated  another  of  the 
group,  feelingly  rubbing  his  stomach. 

"Say,  Harris!"  Murphy  cried.  "Call  Rot- 
terden  out.  Let's  get  this  thing  over  with; 
the  young  lady  wants  something  to  eat — and 
I'm  hungry  as  a  famine  myself." 

"Yes,  call  the  old  man  out,  Harris,"  sec- 
onded a  number  of  the  others. 

"All  right,"  assented  the  young  man, 
Harris;  and  he  strode  to  the  side  door,  threw 
it  open  and  called:  "Rotterden,  the  young 

346 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

woman's  got  here — with  the  stuff.     Can't  you 
drop  that  work  and  come  out?" 

"The  young  woman?"  rumbled  a  rough 
voice  from  within.  "Oh!  Miss  Graw,  eh? 
Good!  I'll  be  through  with  this  in  a  little 
while." 

"But  she  hasn't  had  anything  to  eat 
since  morning,"  Harris  suggested, — rather 
timidly,  I  fancied, — "and  she  wants  to  de- 
liver the  stuff  and  get  away." 

"All  right,"— a  surly  growl,— "I'll  be  out 
in  a  minute,  then." 

Sweet  Nell  Adams — dear  Nell  Adams,  right 
then  I  knew  my  exposure  was  imminent.— 
was  coming.  How  or  why  I  knew  it  I  hadn't 
the  faintest  idea — and  haven't  now;  but  I 
knew  it.  And  I  trembled — and  wished  I  was 
anywhere  but  where  I  was;  and  I  condemned 
myself  for  a  consummate  little  dunce — for 
concealing  my  identity  as  I  had  done,  for 
coming  there  at  all.  And  I  was  ashamed  of 
myself — and  my  cheeks  burned;  and  I  was 
angry  at  everybody  else — and  my  bosom 
heaved.  Oh,  Nell — Nell!  I  was  in  a  fix; 
and  I  knew  it! 

The  side  door  swung  wide,  and  a  little  man 

347 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

in  shiny  black  bustled  into  the  room.  His 
head  was  bald  as  a  toy  balloon;  his  features 
were  almost  concealed  by  a  bristly,  frizzly 
black  beard.  He  came  up  within  a  few  feet 
of  me;  and,  peering  through  the  thick-lensed 
glasses  astride  his  aquiline  nose,  he  gave  an 
ungracious  grunt  of  greeting.  Then  he  sprang 
back  a  step  or  two  and  cried : 

"Why— why,  who's  this?" 

"It's  Miss  Graw,"  Harris  replied  wonder- 
ingly. 

The  little  man  let  out  a  savage  growl  and 
fairly  jumped  up  and  down — glaring,  mouth- 
ing and  gesticulating,  in  mad  rage;  and  his 
associates  looked  on  in  awed  silence  and 
growing  alarm. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Harris  ventured 
timidly.  "What's  the  matter,  Rotterden?" 

"  Matter ! "  stormed  the  little  man.-"  Matter ! 
Who  brought  that  girl  here?" — dramatically 
pointing  a  finger  at  me. 

"I  did,"  Murphy  volunteered. 

"You  did!"  Rotterden  snarled.  "You  did! 
Well,  what  did  you  do  it  for?  Trying  to  butt 
into  trouble — and  lead  us  all  in  with  you? 
That," — indicating  me,  with  withering  con- 

348 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

tempt    and    infinite    disgust,  —  "isn't    Miss 
Graw!" 

Instantly  all  of  them  were  upon  their  feet 
—all  talking  and  gesticulating  at  once. 

"  Well,  who  the  devil  is  she,  then?  "  shouted 
one  man. 

"That's  it!"  voiced  several  others.  "Who 
i$  she,  then?" 

"Ask  Murphy!"  yelled  Bosworth. 

"Ask  her!"  bawled  another  man. 

"Aw,  throw  her  out!"  came  a  voice  from 
behind  me. 

"That's  the  stuff!"  answered  another  voice. 
"Put  her  out!" 

Nell  Adams,  how  would  you  have  liked  it 
— to  be  in  my  shoes  at  that  moment?    And 
to  think  I  had  brought  it  all  upon  myself— 
by  my  own  silliness! 

Harris — the  stoop-shouldered,  the  hatchet- 
faced,  the  weak-looking! — was  the  only  one 
who  remained  self-possessed. 

"Here!"  he  commanded  authoritatively. 
"  Sit  down  —  and  be  still,  you  fools !  Sit 
down,  I  say!  Do  you  want  the  police  in 
here?  If  you  don't,  stop  your  noise — keep 
still.  That's  better.  Now,  listen.  We've  got 

349 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

to  untangle  this  thing.  Shut  and  lock  that 
door.  Now,  listen — listen!  You  can't  all 
talk  at  once.  Let  Rotterden  or  me  do  the 
talking." 

"You  do  it — go  on,"  the  little  man  panted, 
weakly  sinking  into  a  chair. 

Harris  faced  me  and  demanded  sharply, 
sternly — while  the  others  almost  held  their 
breaths : 

"Now,  miss,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  replied  meekly  enough. 

The  young  man  keenly  searched  my  face; 
I  guess  he  thought  me  crazy,  Nell — and  he 
had  reason  on  his  side.  Then  he  whirled 
round  to  Rotterden  and  said: 

"You  know  to  a  certainty  she  isn't  Miss 
Graw,  do  you?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  the  little  man  muttered. 
"I  saw  Miss  Graw  in  Orlanger's  office,  just 
last  week." 

"Well,  do  you  know  this  girl?" 

"No,  I  don't;  but  I'll  bet  she's  been  sent 
here  by  the  other  side.  Murphy's  a  fool ;  he's 
made  a  mess  of  things." 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  Murphy  began  in  his 
own  defense,  "I — " 

350 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Shut  up!"  the  young  man  cut  him  off. 
And  again  he  turned  to  me,  and  said :  "  Now, 
miss," — coldly,  determinedly, — "you've  got 
to  answer  my  questions;  and  you'd  better 
answer  them  straight.  Understand?" 

I  nodded. 

"Well,  what  are  you  doing  here,  then?" 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  know,"  I  replied  truth- 
fully. 

"  What  did  you  come  here  for?  Put  it  that 
way." 

"I  didn't  come  here;  that  man  there," — 
indicating  Murphy, — "brought  me  here." 

"From  the  train?" 

"Yes — of  course." 

"Well,  where  did  you  come  from — what 
place?" 

"Columbus." 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Dawes — Marjory  Dawes." 

Murphy  uttered  a  sharp  "  huh !"  and  grinned 
a  sickly  grin. 

"Why  did  you  come  to  Dayton?"  Harris 
pursued. 

"I  didn't  come  to  Dayton,"  I  tried  to  ex- 
plain; "I  was  on  my  way  to  Cincinnati." 

351 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"What  did  you  get  off  here  for,  then?" 

"Because  that  man/' — again  indicating  the 
collapsed  Murphy, — "beckoned  me  to  get 
off." 

"  Oh ! " — incredulously,  sneeringly . 

"Yes,  sir." 

"That  sounds  pretty  thin  to  me." 

"I  don't  care  if  it  does," — angrily. 

"You  don't?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Did  you  think  you  knew  him?" 

"No;   but  I  thought  he  knew  me." 

"Indeed!"— nastily. 

"Yes,  I  did,"— stiffly. 

"Are  you  in  the  habit  of  getting  off  trains 
to  meet  every  man  you  think  knows  you— 
every  man  that  nods  and  smiles  at  you,  hey?" 

Oh,  he  said  it  so  insultingly,  Nell  Adams! 
And  tears  of  mortification  came  to  my  eyes. 

"Here,  Harris!"  Murphy  cried  hotly. 
"None  of  that — curse  you! — or  you'll  have 
me  to  reckon  with.  Let  me  do  a  little  talk- 
ing. I  believe  this  girl's  all  right;  just  let 
her  explain.  I  know  this:  I  had  a  devil  of 
a  time  getting  her  off  the  train;  I  motioned 
and  motioned  till  I  got  tired — till  I  thought 

352 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I'd  have  to  board  the  train  and  drag  her  off. 
Let  me  ask  her  a  few  questions." 

Then,  to  me:  "Miss — Miss  Dawes,  when  I 
called  you  Miss  Graw  what  did  you  think?" 

"I  thought  you  called  me  Miss  Dawes,"  I 
answered  frankly  and  honestly. 

He  nodded  and  smiled  encouragingly;  then 
he  went  on: 

"  And  what  did  you  think  I  wanted  of  you 
—when  I  motioned  to  you  to  get  off  the 
train?  TeU  us  all  about  it." 

"I  was  running  away  from — from  a — a 
party  in  Columbus,"  I  stammered,  "and  I 
thought  maybe  they — he — or  his  father — 
had  telephoned  or  telegraphed  some  word  to 
me;  and  I  got  off  the  train  to  learn  what  it 
was." 

"  Just  so,"  Murphy  said,  beaming  upon  me. 
Then,  to  his  associates:  "Boys,  /  think  she's 
all  right — think  she's  telling  the  truth;  for 
she  mentioned  something  of  the  kind — some- 
thing about  word  from  somebody  I  didn't 
know  anything  about — as  we  got  into  the 
auto.  I  think  she's  telling  the  truth — think 
she's  all  straight,  boys." 

"She  may  be,"  Harris  said  placidly,  "but 

3.53 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

7  don't  think  so.  I'll  ask  her  a  few  more 
questions,  anyhow.  Miss  Dawes, — as  you 
call  yourself! — why  did  you  pretend  to  be 
Miss  Graw?" 

"I  didn't,"  I  denied;  "you  just  called  me 
that." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  let  us  know  our 
mistake — at  once?" 

"I — I  didn't  want  you  to  know  who  I 
was,  I— I—" 

"Of  course  you  didn't!"  —triumphantly. — 
"But  why?"  ' 

"I  didn't  know — know  what  you  were  ex- 
pecting of  Miss  Graw,  and — and  I  wanted 
to  find  out,  I — I  guess." 

All  the  men  looked  very  sober ;  and  Murphy 
gave  a  little  groan. 

What  had  I  done?  I  couldn't  understand 
the  cause  of  their  sudden  gravity. 

"That's  just  what  I  thought,"  Harris  said 
icily;  "you  wanted  to  learn  all  about  Miss 
Graw's  mission  to  us.  Now,  who  sent  you 
here?" 

"Nobody,"  I  replied. 

"Take  care.  You'd  better  tell  me  the 
truth." 

354 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"I  am,"  I  insisted.  "Please  let  me  go 
now;  I  want  to  get  some  supper — and  go 
on  to  Cincinnati." 

"You  can't  go  yet,"  he  muttered  stub- 
bornly; "and  you  can't  go  at  all  till  this 
thing's  straightened  out  satisfactorily. 
What—" 

But  just  then  the  telephone  bell  rang  in 
the  adjoining  room.  Harris  left  me  and 
went  to  answer  it,  closing  the  door  behind 
him.  In  a  minute  or  two  he  returned  and 
remarked : 

"That  was  Orlanger,  boys.     He  says  Miss 
Graw  was  shadowed  at  the  Union  depot,  by 
Gargle,  and  that  she  can't  get  here  till  later 
—to-morrow,  maybe." 

Then,  to  me,  abruptly:  "How  did  you 
know  she  was  shadowed?" 

"I  saw  the  man  watching  her,"  I  mur- 
mured, sighing  wearily,  "just  as  I  told  you." 

"Yes;  and  then  you  thought  you'd  come 
on  here  and  pretend  to  be  Miss  Graw,  and 
find  out  all  about  her  business  with  us.  Now, 
didn't  you?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"— peevishly. 

"No?"— tauntingly. 

355 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"No." 

"And  nobody  told  you  to  come  here?" 

"No." 

"Nor  suggested  such  a  thing  to  you?" 

The  persistent  pest! 

"No." 

"You  just  came  here  by  chance?" 

"I  tell  you  I  didn't  come  here," — irritably. 

"Well,  you  just  got  here  by  chance,  then?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that's  it.  And  now  I  want 
to  get  away." 

"We're  not  quite  through  with  you  yet. 
How  did  you  know  Miss  Graw  was  coming 
here?" 

"I  didn't  know  it." 

"Oh!" 

"No,  sir,  I  didn't." 

"You  know  now  we  were  expecting  her— 
and  that  Murphy  took  you  for  her,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"Do  you  know  what  business  she — what 
she  was  coming  here  for?" 

"I  do  not." 

"Don't  know  a  thing  about  it?" 

"Not  a  thing.     And  I  tell  you  I  want  to 

356 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

get  away  from  here;  Fm  hungry — nearly 
famished." 

"Well,  I  guess  that's  all  the  questions  / 
have  to  ask  you." 

I  got  upon  my  feet,  preparatory  to  taking 
my  departure. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  Rotterden,  the 
little  frizzly  man;  "sit  down.  7  want  to  ask 
you  a  question  or  two." 

I  dropped  back  into  my  chair,  catching  my 
breath;  I  was  about  ready  to  cry. 

"Where  are  you  going  from  here?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"To  Cincinnati,  I  told  you,"  I  replied 
crossly. 

"You  say  you're  running  away  from  Co- 
lumbus?" 

"Y-e-s." 

Now  what  was  coming? 

"Who  are  you  running  away  from?" 

"My — my  employer." 

"What  for?" — sharply,  suspiciously,  im- 
pudently. 

"None  of  your  business!"  I  retorted. 

I  was  out  of  patience,  old  chum. 

Several  of  the  men  grinned;    and  one  or 

357 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

two  chuckled  audibly.   The  bristly  little  man's 
bald  head  flushed  clear  to  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"  Don't  get  gay,  young  woman ! "  he  snarled. 
"You're  not  out  of  the  woods  yet." 

Nell,  I  flew  mad  as  a  wet  hen — all  in  a 
second. 

"You're  a  despisable  little  beast!"  I 
screamed.  "Shame  on  you — to  try  to  bully 
a  defenceless  girl !  Oh,  I  just  wish  Ned  were 
here !  He'd  settle  with  you — with  all  of  you ! " 

"That's  the  stuff!"  Murphy  muttered  sotto 
voce.  "Give  it  to  him;  I'll  back  you!" 

"  Who's  Ned,  Miss  Dawes?  "  inquired  Harris, 
grinning  his  nastiest. 

"He's  Ned — that's  who!"  I  screeched,  in 
reckless  and  utter  abandon.  "  My  Ned !  Mr. 
Edward  Durbin  of  Columbus,  my  employer; 
and  I'll—" 

Nell,  I  never  finished  that  sentence.  At 
the  mention  of  my  employer's  full  name,  every 
man  again  excitedly  sprang  to  his  feet;  and 
pandemonium  broke  loose.  I  sank  back  in 
my  chair — amazed,  dismayed,  overwhelmed. 
What  was  the  matter?  What  had  I  done— 
oh!  what  had  I  done?  All  I  could  see  was  a 
lot  of  waving  arms,  stamping  feet,  bobbing 

358 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

heads,  rolling  eyes  and  working  mouths;  and 
all  I  could  hear  was  a  rumble  and  grumble 
and  jumble — something  like  this: 

"It's  a  shame!— Bah!— She's  a  spy!— She's 
an  innocent  little  fool ! — Ned  Durbin ! — Leath- 
erlips  club!  —  Her  employer!  —  Sent  her!  - 
Didn't!— Did!— You're  a  fool!— So  're  you!- 
Let  'er  go ! — Won't ! — Ruin  everything ! — Lock 
'er  up! — Never! — Police! — Hell! — Lose  elec- 
tion!— Nonsense! — Us  boys! — Get  us  in  trou- 
ble!— Yeah! — You're  a  liar! — You're  an- 
other!" 

Nell,  I  couldn't  make  anything  of  it.  Do 
you  wonder?  It  was  worse  than  a  South 
American  revolution! 

Finally  Harris,  by  frantically  waving  them 
to  silence  and  commanding  and  beseeching 
them  to  come  to  their  senses,  succeeded  in 
restoring  a  semblance  of  quiet — though  the 
rumblings  and  grumblings  and  mutterings 
and  sputterings  went  on.  Then  he  came  up 
to  me,  took  me  roughly  by  the  arm  and  said : 

"Here.  I'm  going  to  lock  you  up  in  the 
adjoining  room,  till  we  get  this  thing  settled.'1 

"Well,  you're  not!"  I  cried,  jerking  away 
from  him. 

359 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"I'll  be  cussed  if  you  lock  her  up!"  Murphy 
shouted,  cracking  his  fists. 

"  That's  the  stuff!"  abetted  Bosworth.  "  I'll 
stand  by  you,  Murphy!" 

"And  I'll  stand  by  you,  Harris!"  yelled 
another  man.  "Lock  'er  up!" 

The  hullabaloo  promised  to  break  loose 
again;  but  Harris  quickly  explained: 

"Listen,  you  hot-headed  fools!  Listen! 
I'm  not  going  to  harm  her— 

"You  better  bet  you're  not!"  Murphy  in- 
terjected. 

"Shut  up!"  bawled  two  or  three. 

Harris  continued:  "I'm  just  going  to  shut 
her  up  in  the  other  room,  while  we  talk  this 
thing  over.  She  mustn't  hear  what  we  have 
to  say;  she's  heard  too  much  already,  and— 

"That's  what  she  has!"  snarled  Rotterden. 

Harris  concluded:  "And  she  mustn't  hear 
any  more.  Do  you  fellows  want  to  queer  the 
whole  game?  Say!  If  you  don't,  let  me 
have  my  way;  and  keep  still.  When  we've 
talked  the  thing  over,  I'll  stand  by  whatever's 
agreed  upon — so  will  Rotterden.  Now,  be 
reasonable.  We're  in  a  devil  of  a  box;  and 
we've  got  to  get  out  of  it,  some  way." 

360 


THE  MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Then,  to  me :   "  This  way,  Miss  Dawes — for 
only  a  few  minutes." 

"And  then  will  you  let  me  go?"  I  ques- 
tioned shrewdly. 

"You   bet   he   will,    Miss!"    Murphy    an- 
swered me. 

I  nodded  my  willingness  to  be  made  a 
prisoner;  and  Harris  hastily  bundled  me 
and  my  suit-case  into  the  adjoining  apart- 
ment. Then  he  banged  and  locked  the  door; 
and  there  I  was,  Sweet  Nell  of  old  Oberlin,— 
poor  little,  pretty  little  Marjory  Dawes  of 
Chesterville ! — in  durance  abominable,  a  vic- 
tim of  my  own  silliness !  Did  you  ever — ever 
—oh,  Nell,  there's  no  use  in  saying  another 
word! 


361 


XVI. 

I  DROPPED  limply  into  a  chair,  Nell,  and 
covered  my  face  with  my  hands.  Oh,  how 
miserable  I  was — how  abjectly  and  utterly 
miserable  and  lonesome  and  homesick!  I 
wanted  Ned — my  Ned;  I  wished  for  Jack — 
dear  old  Jack !  I  longed  for  Aunt  Dodo,  you 
—Sweet  Nell! — Mr.  Durbin,  Colonel  Wells- 
anybody  and  everybody  I  had  ever  known 
and  loved!  And  the  tears  would  and  did 
come;  and  I  had  a  good  big  cry!  Then  I 
felt  much  better;  and  I  wiped  my  eyes  and 
began  to  look  around  me — and  listen  to  the 
confused  buzz  and  murmur  of  voices  in  the 
room  I  had  just  left. 

My  place  of  detention  was  about  the  size 
of  the  apartment  adjoining;  and,  like  its 
fellow,  had  a  door  opening  into  the  hall. 
It  contained  a  long  table,  a  small  safe,  a 
bookcase  and  a  number  of  chairs.  The  floor 
was  carpeted;  and  there  was  a  telephone 
upon  the  wall. 

I  wondered  what  chance  of  escape  there 

362 


THE   MISADVENTURES  OF   MARJORY 

was;  and  I  arose  and  began  a  tour  of  in- 
spection. The  door  opening  into  the  hall 
was  locked,  and  the  key  was  gone.  No  hope 
in  that  direction,  I  decided.  Next  I  went 
to  the  two  windows.  Both  looked  out  upon 
a  black  abyss — no  convenient  portico  or  other 
aid  beneath  them.  I  gave  up  and  returned 
to  my  chair — helpless,  hopeless.  Then  my 
gaze  rested  upon  the  telephone;  and  I  gave 
a  start — and  a  little  shiver  of  joy.  Oo-h!  I 
felt  prickly  and  queer  all  over,  then  hot,  then 
cold  again — all  in  a  few  seconds.  Why  not 
call  for  help — why  not?  The  hubbub  in  the 
other  room  was  so  great  my  jailers  wouldn't 
hear  me  talking,  I  was  sure.  Yes,  why  not 
call  for  help!  But  whom — whom  would  I 
call?  The  police  station?  Oh,  I  didn't  want 
to  do  that!  And  probably  they  were  in  with 
these  political  tricksters — or  whatever  they 
might  be — at  any  rate,  I  reasoned.  No,  it 
wouldn't  do  to  call  the  police.  Oo-h!  Why 
not  call  Ned — my  Ned! — up  at  Columbus? 
Of  course  it  would  take  him  quite  a  while  to 
get  to  me, — I  had  no  idea  how  long! — but 
what  else  could  I  do?  Yes,  I'd — yes,  I  would? 
I'd  make  the  attempt,  anyhow! 

363 


I  went  over  to  the  phone  and  took  down 
the  receiver. 

"Number?"   central   said   promptly. 

"  I  want  Edward  Durbin,  Chittenden  Hotel, 
Columbus/'  I  replied  tremulously.  "Yes, 
Durbin;  D-u-r-b-i-n.  Yes,  Edward.  Whom 
for?  Oh!  who  for.  Mr.  Rotterden," — with 
quick  inspiration.  —  "Yes,  Mr.  Rotterden. 
And  hurry,  please;  it's  very  important.  No, 
I'll  hold  the  phone.  No  matter;  I  don't 
mind  the  wait.  All  right." 

I  meant  to  prevent  the  ringing  of  the  bell 
if  possible;  so  I  stood  leaning  against  the 
wall,  the  receiver  to  my  ear.  I  was  quiver- 
ing from  head  to  foot — with  hunger,  weak- 
ness and  excitement.  The  uproar  in  the 
other  room  was  increasing.  Their  voices 
sounded  more  and  more  animated,  more  and 
more  excited;  hoarse  tones  contended  with 
shrill  tones,  and  oaths  with  exclamations.  I 
could  hear  the  shuffle  and  stamp  of  feet,  the 
bump  and  bang  of  moving  furniture.  Oh, 
what  was  going  to  happen — how  was  it  all 
going  to  end!  And  why  didn't  I  get  Ned- 
why  didn't  I!  Oh,  dear — dear! 

"Hello!"  said  a  voice  in  my  ear. 

364 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Hello!"  I  murmured  in  reply. 

"Here's  Columbus;  here's  Mr.  Durbin. 
Hello,  Mr.  Durbin!" 

"Hello!"  came  a  voice  that  I  recognized 
as  Ned's — dear  Ned's!  And  I  danced  up  and 
down,  in  joy! 

"  Hel— hello ! "  I  answered.     "  Hello,  Ned ! " 

"Well,  who  is  it?"  he  demanded  gruffly. 

"Why — why,  don't  you  know?"  I  replied. 
"It's— it's  me!" 

"Me? "-crossly. —"Well,  who's  me?" 

"It's  Marjory!" — ever  so  faintly. 

"What!" — excitedly,  almost  incredulously. 

"Yes,  it  is,  Ned."  ' 

"  Is  that  so  f  Where  the  mischief  are 
you?" 

"Out  here — or  down  here — at  Dayton." 

"What!" 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"What  in  the  nation  are  you  doing  down 
there?" 

"I — I  ran  off  from  you,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know — I  think  I  do;  and  I've  been 
hunting  you  all  the  afternoon." 

"You  have?" — in  a  tone  of  keen  gratifica- 
tion. 

365 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF  MARJORY 

"Yes,  I  have!  Don't  let  me  know  that  you 
feel  so  good  over  the  fact,  please;  it  hasn't 
been  any  fun  for  me.  Now,  what  are  you 
doing  down  there?" 

"I'm  not  doing  anything.  I'm — I'm  a 
prisoner,  N-e-d!" 

"A  what?" 

"A  prisoner." 

"A — a — I  can't  understand  you,  I  guess. 
What  did  you  say?" 

"I  say  I'm  a  prisoner.     Understand?" 

"No;   spell  it." 

"P-r-i-s-o-n-e-r,"  I  spelled  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly. 

"A  prisoner?"  he  fairly  yelled. 

"Yes;  I'm  locked  up."  ' 

"What  in  the  name  of  common  sense  do 
you  mean,  Marjory  Dawes?" 

"Just  what  I  say,  Ned  Durbin!"  — peev- 
ishly.— "I'm  a  prisoner,  I'm  locked  up  in  a 
room;  and  I  want  to  get  out.  I  haven't  had 
anything  to  eat  since  morning,  and — " 

"Well,  hold  on  a  minute!"  he  bawled. 
"What  have  you  done  to  get  locked  up?" 

"Why,  nothing!"  I  replied  snappishly. 
"What  a  silly  boy  you  are,  Ned!" 

see 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"What  're  you  locked  up  for,  then?  Who's 
locked  you  up — the  police?" 

"Nonsense,  Ned  Durbin!"  — in  keen  dis- 
gust. 

"Who,  then?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  tried  to  explain;  "some 
political  gang  of  some  kind.  They  thought 
me  somebody  else — some  other  girl,  and 
coaxed  me  off  the  train  and  brought  me  to 
this  house;  and  then,  when  they  found  out 
their  mistake,  they  locked  me  up  in  this 
room,  and— 

"I  understand!"  he  broke  in  on  me.  "I 
understand ! " —  excitedly.  —  "  They  thought 
you  Miss  Catherine  Graw — on  account  of  your 
clothes.  Well,  we've  got  Miss  Graw  shut  up 
here;  but  nobody  knows  it  but  a  few  of  us. 
Now,  where  are  you?  What's  the  number?" 

"I  don't  know,  Ned;  but  it's  a  big  brick 
house  away  out  in  the  suburbs,  and — oh,  Ned ! 
Ned!" 

"Yes!    Yes!" 

"  The  men  are  in  the  next  room — right  now 
— quarreling  over  what  they'll  do  with  me. 
Oh,  come — come  quick!" 

"  I'll  get  there  as  fast  as  steam  or  electricity 

367 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

can  carry  me,"  he  answered  heartily;  "and 
Til  find  you — never  fear.  Don't  be  worried; 
those  men  won't  dare  to  harm  you  or  offer 
you  any  indignities.  Goodbye,  now;  I'll  be 
with  you  in  a  few  hours,  at  the  most.  Say!" 

"Well?" 

"You  don't  find  it  so  nice  running  away 
from  me,  do  you?"  -The  mean  fellow!  He 
was  laughing! — "You  find  you  still  need  me 
in  your  business,  don't  you?  Ta-ta!  So 
long!" 

Just  then,  from  the  other  room,  came  the 
alarming  sounds  of  hoarse  oaths,  and  smash- 
ing blows  and  crashing  furniture.  Evidently 
the  wordy  consultation  had  ended  in  a  free- 
for-all  melee. 

"Ned!"  I  almost  screamed  in  the  receiver. 
"Ned!" 

But  he  was  gone!    Oh,  Nell — Nell  Adams! 

Weak  and  trembling,  I  dropped  down  into 
a  chair.  The  sounds  of  struggle  and  conflict 
went  on.  Then  I  heard  the  bang  of  a  door; 
and  presently  I  heard  someone  fumbling  at 
the  lock  of  my  own — the  one  leading  to  the 
hall.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  in  fear — not  know- 
ing what  to  expect.  The  door  swung  open; 

368 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

and  there  stood  Murphy,  panting  and  per- 
spiring. His  clothes  were,  dusty  and  awry; 
his  cheek  was  bruised  and  his  nose  was  ooz- 
ing blood.  I  could  do  nothing  but  silently 
gawk  at  him,  Nell.  The  sounds  of  battle 
still  continued. 

"Come  on!"  the  pursy  fellow  wheezed.  "I 
got  the  keys — and  locked — the  cusses  in.  Let 
'em — fight  it  out!  I  got — you  into  this — 
muddle,  and  I'll — get  you  out.  Come  on." 

He  stooped  and  caught  up  my  suit-case, 
and  lurched  through  the  doorway  into  the 
hall;  and  I  closely  followed  him.  Down  the 
stairs  we  hurried  and  out  upon  the  street. 
My  deliverer  waddled  in  advance  of  me,  puff- 
ing laboriously.  Under  an  arc  lamp  at  the 
nearest  corner  he  stopped  and  said: 

"Here's  the  car  line;  you  can  take  a  car 
here  that  will  carry  you  right  to  the  depot." 

"Oh,  thank  you  ever  so  much!"  I  mur- 
mured feelingly. 

"You  don't  owe  me  any  thanks,"  he  said, 
shaking  his  head ;  "  but  I  want  you  to  prom- 
ise me  something." 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you'll 

369 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

leave  town  as  soon  as  you  can,  for  wherever 
you  want  to  go;  and  that  you  won't  mention 
your  evening's  experience  to  anybody.  Does 
that  go?" 

"Y-e-s,  I  guess  so,"  I  answered  thought- 
fully ;  "  I  won't  say  anything  to  anybody  here, 
anyhow." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  say  anything  about 
it  to  anybody  anywhere,"  he  said  quickly. 

"Oh!"  I  objected.  "I'll  have  to  tell  Ned 
all  about  it." 

A  car  was  coming  in  the  distance. 

"That's  your  car,"  my  companion  mut- 
tered. Then,  briskly:  "Who  do  you  mean 
by  Ned?  You  don't  mean  Ned  Durbin,  do 
you?" 

"Of  course,"  I  made  answer. 

"Oh,  the  devil!"  he  exclaimed  roughly. 
"You  mustn't  tell  him — of  all  men." 

"Why?"  I  inquired  ingenuously. 

"I  can't  tell  you  why.  But  you  mustn't 
tell  him;  you'd  get  me — all  of  us  into  trou- 
ble. But  you  won't  see  him,  will  you?  Didn't 
you  say  you  were  on  your  way  to  Cincinnati?" 

"That's  what  I  said— yes." 

The  car  was  drawing  near. 

370 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"  Well?  "—in  evident  concern. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  I'll  go  there  now. 
While  you  men  were  deciding  my  fate,  I 
phoned  Ned;  and  he's  coming  down  from 
Columbus,  after  me." 

His  jaw  sagged  slowly,  and  he  stared  at 
me — open-mouthed.  I  gave  a  little  laugh 
and  moved  to  the  curb;  and  the  car  came  to 
a  stop. 

"Give  me  my  suit-case,"  I  said. 

"I've  a  notion  not  to  do  it,"  he  growled 
wrathfully;  "I've  a  notion  to  grab  you  and 
take  you  back.  Confound  you!  I'm  almost 
convinced  that  Durbin  did  send  you  down 
here." 

But  he  walked  out  to  the  car  with  me  and 
assisted  me  up  the  steps. 

"Good  night,"  I  cried  gaily,  waving  my 
hand. 

"Good  night,"  he  muttered  sullenly. 

Then  he  turned  and  waddled  away;  and 
just  then  a  man  emerged  from  the  shadow 
of  a  tree  and  ran  to  catch  the  car.  I  went 
inside  and  dropped  into  a  seat;  and  the  man 
stood  upon  the  rear  platform  and  peered 
through  the  glass  in  the  closed  door. 

371 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

When  we  reached  the  depot,  I  got  off  and 
went  at  once  to  the  lunch-room ;  I  was  nearly 
famished.  Ten  minutes  later,  feeling  much 
refreshed — feeling  that  life  was  again  worth 
living,  Nell! — I  sauntered  into  the  waiting- 
room.  Which  way  would  Ned  come,  I  won- 
dered— by  steam  road  or  electric?  Well,  I 
had  better  wait  at  the  depot  till  the  next 
train  came  in  from  Columbus,  anyhow,  I  de- 
cided. But  how  long  would  that  be?  I'd 
go  and  inquire.  I  started  to  carry  out  my 
resolve;  but  midway  of  the  room  I  came  face 
to  face  with  the  man  who  had  come  in  from 
the  suburbs  with  me. 

"I  want  you,"  he  said  quietly,  smiling  in- 
scrutably. 

I  was  startled,  mystified — for  the  moment, 
Nell,  of  course;  but  I  was  not  at  all  alarmed 
—and  but  little  concerned.  My  stomach  was 
full  of  warm  food  and,  consequently,  my  heart 
—or  is  it  one's  head? — was  full  of  courage. 
Then,  too,  I  was  armed  and  fortified  with  the 
knowledge  that  Ned  was  coming  to  my  res- 
cue— no  matter  what  might  happen  to  me; 
and  I  replied  stiffly,  coldly: 

"Sir!" 

372 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"I  want  you,"  he  repeated  coolly;  "want 
you  to  go  with  me." 

I  looked  straight  up  into  his  face  without 
flinching  from  his  direct  gaze.  He  was  a 
middle-aged  man,  smooth-faced,  muscular, 
and  not  unattractive. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"     I  said. 

"Oh,  I  guess  you  do!"  he  smiled. 

"You  must  be  laboring  under  a  mistake 
in  identity,"  I  suggested. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  grinned.     "Come on  with 


me." 


"But  I  won't." 

"Oh,  yes  you  will!" 

"Why  should  I?" 

"To  prevent  a  scene." 

"To  prevent  a  scene?"  ' 

"Yes.  If  you  don't  come  with  me,  with- 
out resistance,  I'll  be  compelled  to  call  a 
policeman.  That  would  be  embarrassing, 
wouldn't  it?  Listen.  You've  been  closeted 
with  Rotterden  and  Harris  and  their  gang; 
I  tracked  you  out  there — and  I  shadowed 
you  back  here.  Now  you  must  come  with 


me." 


"Where  do  you  want  me  to  go?" 

373 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Up  to  Judge  Montford's  house." 

"What  for?" 

"The  judge  and  some  of  the  boys  want 
to  interview  you." 

Some  more  "boys/'  Nell  Adams!  I  didn't 
relish  the  thought  of  making  their  acquaint- 
ance! 

"What  do  they  want  to  interview  me 
about?"  I  temporized. 

"They'll  tell  you  when  you  get  there;  I 
presume  you  can  guess,  though.  Come  on." 

"But  I  want  to  know  now,"  I  insisted. 

"I  think  you  can  guess,"  he  chuckled. 
"However,  I  don't  mind  saying  this:  you're 
not  going  to  be  harmed  in  any  way,  nor 
prosecuted  nor  imprisoned — if  you'll  come 
along  quietly  and  tell  us  all  you  know." 

"Know?"  I  snapped  irritably.  "Know 
about  what?  I  won't  go  a  step  till  you  tell 
me.  There!" 

He  silently  searched  my  face  for  several 
seconds — for  signs  of  weakness,  I  suppose; 
then  he  said : 

"They  want  you  to  tell  them  about  what 
you  brought  down  from  Columbus,  for  Rot- 
terden  and  his  ring." 

374 


"That's  easily  answered,"  I  smiled;  "and 
I'll  answer  it  right  here — to  you.  Then  I 
won't  have  to  go  with  you.  I  didn't  bring 
anything." 

He  shook  his  head  impatiently. 

"That  doesn't  go,"  he  muttered.  "Come 
on;  I  can't  fool  away  any  more  time."-  —Then, 
with  a  shrewd  grin : — "  I  guess  you're  hoping 
for  a  chance  to  slip  away  from  me;  but  you 
won't  get  it.  Come  on." 

"I've  got  to,  have  I?" 

"Sure." 

"All  right,"  I  said,  thrusting  my  suit-case 
toward  him. 

He  appeared  surprised ;  but  whether  at  my 
readiness  to  accompany  him  or  at  my  assur- 
ance in  forcing  my  baggage  upon  him,  I 
couldn't  tell. 

"I  needn't  keep  a  restraining  hand  upon 
you,  need  I?"  he  questioned. 

"No,"  I  replied  curtly,  sharply. 

"All  right." 

Side  by  side  we  walked  out  of  the  depot. 

"Here's  our  car  right  this  minute,"  he  re- 
marked in  a  tone  of  keen  gratification. 

We  climbed  aboard;   and  rolled  away  to- 

375 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

ward  another  residence  section  of  the  city. 
Nell,  I  was  rather  enjoying  myself  and  my 
kaleidoscopic  experiences.  Little  Marjory 
Dawes  was  becoming  such  an  important  per- 
sonage! I  tried  to  strike  up  a  conversation 
with  my  new  conductor — hoped  for  a  mild 
flirtation,  almost! — but  he  was  as  glum  as 
the  portly  and  pursy  Mr.  Murphy  had  been. 

Our  ride  was  a  short  one;  and  a  few  mo- 
ments after  alighting  from  the  car,  I  found 
myself  in  the  well-lighted  parlor  of  a  fine 
residence — and  again  surrounded  by  a  crowd 
of  men.  But  these  men,  without  exception, 
apparently,  were  well-dressed  and  polished 
gentlemen.  At  any  rate,  they  were  well- 
dressed;  and  they  arose  to  a  man,  on  my 
entrance,  and  remained  standing  till  I  was 
seated. 

Then  a  big-boned,  elderly  man — with  square 
and  heavy  jaws,  and  stubby  iron-gray  mus- 
tache, and  wiry  iron-gray  hair  combed  pompa- 
dour, and  wearing  an  iron-gray  suit! — wheeled 
his  chair  in  front  of  me,  leaned  forward  with 
his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  and  began  slowly 
and  soberly: 

"My  dear  young  woman,  I  desire  to  begin 

376 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

the  little  talk  I  hope  to  have  with  you,  by 
begging  your  pardon  for  bringing  you  here 
—especially,  for  bringing  you  here  at  such 
an  hour  and  in  such  a  manner.  But  I  think 
you'll  readily  understand  that  we  had  no 
choice  in  the  matter.  Now,  I'll  just  preface 
the  questions  I  mean  to  ask  you,  by  saying 
you  know  some  things  that  it's  absolutely 
necessary  that  we  learn;  and  if  you'll  kindly 
and  sensibly  tell  us  all  you  know — without 
equivocation  or  reservation — we'll  soon  be 
through  with  you  and  you  can  go  on  your 
way,  rejoicing." 

He  paused,  and  smiled  affably. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  murmured,  also  smiling. 

He  was  such  a  nice  old  fellow,  Nell  mine! 

"That  means  that  you'll  answer  my  ques- 
tions?" he  queried. 

"Yes,  sir." 

All  the  other  men  kept  respectfully  silent. 

"Very  well,"  my  new  inquisitor  proceeded. 
"Now  your  name  is — is — ", — consulting  a 
slip  of  paper  he  held  in  his  hand, — "is  Cath- 
erine Graw,  is  it  not?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  twittered  sweetly. 

"What?" 

377 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

I  smilingly  shook  my  head. 

There  was  a  stir  among  my  auditors. 

"Your  -  -  name  -  -  isn't  -  -  Catherine  - 
Graw?"  the  nice  old  gentleman  said  slowly, 
huskily. 

"It  is  not,"  I  answered  composedly. 

"Why,  Hobson,"—  turning  to  the  man  who 
had  brought  me, — "what's  the  meaning  of 
this?" 

"I  don't  know,  Judge  Montford,"  the  fel- 
low admitted,  evidently  puzzled.  "All  I 
know  is  that  she's  the  young  woman  that 
was  closeted  with  Rotterden  and  Harris  and 
their  gang.  I'm  dead  sure  of  that;  I  trailed 
her  out  there,  and  I  saw  Murphy  put  her 
aboard  a  car  to  send  her  back  into  the  city, 
and  I  rode  on  the  same  car  with  her — and 
I  got  her  at  the  depot  and  brought  her  here. 
That's  all  I  know." 

"And  you  say  your  name  isn't  Catherine 
Graw?"  the  judge  inquired,  again  turning  to 
me. 

"I  do,"  I  replied. 

"Your  name  isn't  Graw,  at  all?"  he  pur- 
sued. 

"Not  at  all." 

378 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Didn't  you  come  from  Columbus  this 
afternoon?" 

"I  did." 

"And  didn't  a  man  by  the  name  of  Murphy 
meet  you  at  the  depot,  by  arrangement?" 

"Not  by  arrangement — no,  sir." 

"But  he  met  you?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  went  in  an  auto  with  him,  to 
meet  a  number  of  men,  didn't  you?" 

"  I  didn't  know  whom  I  was  going  to  meet." 

"You  didn't?    Take  care!" 

"No,  I  didn't." 

"But  you  went  with  him?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  met  a  number  of  men?" 

"Y-e-s,  I  did;   but—" 

"Wait  a  moment,  please.  What  is  your 
name?" 

"Marjory  Dawes." 

"That's  the  truth?" 

"Yes,  the  truth." 

"Dawes,  eh?  Well,  that  sounds  a  good 
deal  like  Graw;  our  informant  got  the  names 
mixed  in  some  way,  I  presume.  Now,  Miss 
Dawes,  what  did  you  bring  from  Columbus 

379 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

with  you  and  deliver  to  Rotterden,  or  Harris, 
or  any  other  of  the  men  you  met  at  that  big 
brick  house  where  Murphy  took  you?" 

"Nothing." 

"Take  care — take  care,  now/' — smiling  and 
shaking  his  head,  kindly  but  deprecatingly. 

"Nothing,"  I  repeated.  Then,  with  sud- 
den inspiration  and  resolve:  "Judge  Mont- 
ford,  let  me  tell  you  all  I  know — everything." 

"I'll  be  only  too  pleased  to  listen,"  he 
smiled. 

I  detailed  my  tale  of  unusual  misadven- 
ture, from  its  beginning  in  the  depot  at  Co- 
lumbus to  its  seeming  ending  in  the  depot 
at  Dayton;  and  my  auditors  gave  breathless 
attention.  And  when  I  had  concluded  my 
recital  of  wonderful  misunderstandings  and 
mishaps,  they  sat  staring  at  one  another  in 
open-mouthed  amazement  and  incredulity. 

But  I  didn't  say  a  word,  Nell,  about  my 
phoning  to  Ned ;  nor  did  I  mention  his  name. 
I  don't  know  why  I  didn't;  it  was  just  an 
instance  of  over-precaution  and  foolish  timid- 
ity, I  guess.  But  this  I  do  know — now:  had 
I  mentioned  his  name,  as  my  employer,  it 
would  have  saved  me  all  further  annoyance. 

380 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

Judge  Montford,  apparently,  was  the  first 
to  recover  from  the  astonishment  my  story 
occasioned. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  he  said  placidly,  "are 
we  to  give  credence  to  Miss  Dawes'  statement 
— or  what  are  we  to  do?" 

Nobody  responded  for  a  few  moments ;  each 
man  silently  and  interrogatively  looked  at  his 
neighbor.  Then  Hobson  spoke  up — timidly 
and  half-apologetically : 

"Judge,  may  I  say  a  word?" 

"Certainly,"  was  the  gracious  permission. 

"I  think  you've  forgotten  a  part  of  what 
Gargle  phoned. us:  that  when  he  was  in  Or- 
langer's  office  he  got  a  chance  to  scratch  his 
name  on  the  valise  he  thought  Miss  Graw,— 
or  Dawes,  or  whatever  her  name  is, — would 
bring  with  her.  I  believe  I'd  examine  that 
valise  there;  it  might  help  us  to  settle  the 
question." 

"Not  a  bad  suggestion,  Hobson,"  the  judge 
drawled  musingly.  "By  the  way,  gentle- 
men, it's  a  little  odd  we  haven't  heard  any- 
thing more  from  Gargle;  you  remember  he 
was  to  phone  us  again  as  soon  as  Miss  Graw, 
—as  he  called  the  party, — left  Columbus.  His 

381 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

silence,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  is  rather 
confirmatory  of  Miss  Dawes'  story." — All  the 
while  he  was  closely  examining  the  outside 
of  my  suit-case,  turning  it  round  and  tipping 
it  this  way  and  that. — "Then  another  thing 
in  proof  of  Miss  Dawes'  veracity  is  the  fact 
— why — why — why! " 

He  paused — stopped  speaking;  and  I  held 
my  breath,  as  did  all  the  others. 

"Why,"  the  judge  announced,  with  all  the 
solemnity  of  an  oracle  of  doom,  "here's  Gar- 
gle's name  on  this  valise— right  here  on  this 
corner,  scratched  with  a  pin,  evidently.  G-a-r- 
g-l-e.  Well— well!" 

And  he  leaned  back  and  looked  me  full 
in  the  face,  pityingly  shaking  his  handsome 
head. 

Sweet  Nell  of  old  Oberlin,  I  was  utterly 
dumbfounded.  I  bent  down  and  looked  at 
that  confusing,  accusing  and  convicting  name 
scratched  upon  one  end  of  my  suit-case— 
and,  for  the  moment  doubted  my  own  iden- 
tity ;  and  wished  Ned  would  come  and  change 
my  name  at  once — that  I  might  know  myself! 

"Well — well!"  Judge  Montford  repeated, 
still  deprecatingly  wagging  his  head. 

382 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

And  I  knew  he  considered  me  an  artistic 
but  conscienceless  liar.  The  red  mantled  my 
face;  and  I  cried — nervously,  shrilly: 

"It  isn't  mine;   this  case  isn't  mine!" 

"My  dear  girl,"  he  replied  soberly,  feelingly, 
"I  wouldn't  say  it — I  wouldn't  say  a  word 
more;  you'll  only  make  a  bad  matter  worse, 
perhaps.  I'm  very  sorry,  but— 

"But  it  isn't  mine,  I  tell  you!"  I  inter- 
rupted indignantly.  "  It  must  belong  to  that 
girl  I  met  in  the  depot  at  Columbus — Miss 
Graw,  or  whatever  her  name  is;  she  must 
have  taken  my  suit-case,  when  she  left  me 
in  such  a  hurry,  and  left  her  own.  At  any 
rate,  it  isn't  mine.  That  detective's  name 
couldn't  be  on  my  suit-case — just  couldn't! 
He  never  had  a  chance  to  put  it  there." 

The  judge  earnestly  searched  my  face.  His 
associates  were  growing  restless. 

"Just  a  few  moments  more,"  he  said  to 
them,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "Let's  be 
sure  of  our  ground."  Then,  to  me:  "What 
would  be  in  your  suit-case,  Miss  —  Miss 
Dawes?" 

"Why,  my  clothes,  of  course,"  I  answered 
promptly. 

383 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Did  you  pack  it  full?" 

"  Yes — certainly." 

"  Didn't  leave  room  in  it  for  anything  else?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"Let's  examine  this  case  and  see  what  it 
contains,  then,"  he  suggested. 

"Very  well,"  I  consented  readily.  "But 
maybe  it's  locked." 

"No  doubt,"  he  replied,  smiling  inscrut- 
ably. "But  try  your  key  upon  it." 

I  did  so,  Nell — boldly,  confidently,  being 
dead  sure  my  key  wouldn't  work  the  lock. 
Judge  of  my  surprise  when,  after  a  slight 
catch  or  two,  it  turned  easily  and  the  case 
sprung  open! 

But  I  didn't  have  time  to  think  of  what 
it  meant — that  my  key  should  open  the 
locked  baggage  of  a  stranger.  The  two  halves 
of  the  case  fell  apart  and — there  exposed  to 
the  gaze  of  the  surprised  lot  of  us  were  a 
number  of  packages  of  printed  matter  and 
a  number  of  rolls  of  bank  bills. 

I  gave  a  little  screech — and  sank  back  in 
my  chair,  my  heart  fluttering.  The  men  got 
upon  their  feet  and  craned  their  necks  to 
see,  uttering  grunts  and  exclamations. 

384 


THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

"Why — why!"  the  judge  ejaculated,  ac- 
cusingly eyeing  me. 

Instantly  I  roused  myself. 

"Can't  you  see,"  I  cried,  "that  that  proves 
what  I  said — that  the  case  isn't  mine?  Can't 
you  see  that  it's  Miss  Graw's — and  that  those 
other  men  knew  I  wasn't  Miss  Graw,  and 
thought  the  case  mine,  and  didn't  open  it? 
Can't  you  see?  Can't  you  see?" 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  one  man;  and  two 
or  three  of  his  comrades  nodded  approval  of 
the  statement. 

"That's  so,"  muttered  another;  and  "  that's 
so"  echoed  several  of  his  companions. 

I  felt  easier. 

"Well,  we've  got  'em  dead  to  rights — and 
got  their  stuff,"  chuckled  Hobson,  rubbing 
his  palms  together  and  bobbing  his  head. 

"  Say ! "  cried  the  judge.  "  That's  the  truth, 
isn't  it?" 

Then  they  all  laughed,  and  slapped  one  an- 
other upon  the  back  and  capered  about  the 
room;  and  chuckled  and  sputtered,  and 
coughed  and  choked — and  did  it  all  over 
again,  till  their  features  were  aquiver  and 
their  eyes  were  moist  with  tears. 

385 


THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Can't  I  go  now?"  I  suggested  to  the  judge, 
when  the  hubbub  had  somewhat  subsided. 

"My  dear  girl/'  he  said  gravely,  laying  a 
hand  upon  my  shoulder,  "I'm  afraid  we'll 
have  to  hold  you;  I  don't  know — but  we 
may  need  you." 

"Need  me?"  I  cried  fretfully,  my  patience 
worn  threadbare.  "What  for?" 

"Never  mind — never  mind!"  he  murmured 
soothingly.  "Maybe  we  won't  need  you  at 
all;  but  you'll  have  to  stay  a  little  longer 
—till  we  talk  the  affair  over." 

"Oh,  dear!"  I  half  whimpered.  "I  wish 
Ned  would  come  and  take  me  back  to  Co- 
lumbus; I'm  tired  to  death  of  this  town." 

"Ned?"  the  judge  questioned. 

"Yes,  Ned,"  I  replied  petulantly;  "Ned 
Durbin.  If  he  was  here— 

"Ned  Durbin?"  the  judge  interrupted. 
"Young  Ned  Durbin — the  real-estate  man?" 

"Of  course,"  I  yawned  behind  my  hand; 
"he's  my  employer." 

"Why,  girl — Miss  Dawes!"  the  dear  old 
fellow  laughed,  pinching  my  arm.  "Why 
didn't  you  tell  us  that  long  ago — that  Ned 
Durbin' s  your  employer?  We'd  have  known 

386 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

at  once  you  were  all  right;  would  have  had 
no  doubt  of  your  story.  Did  you  say  he's 
coming  after  you?" 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative;  and  told  him 
about  my  running  away  from  Ned  and  about 
my  phoning  him  to  come  to  my  rescue.  He 
laughed  heartily;  and  the  other  men  joined 
him.  I  felt  very  silly,  Nell;  but  I  felt  very 
happy,  too — for  Judge  Montford  was  saying: 

"Well,  Mr.  Durbin  can't  get  here  till  after 
midnight — the  best  he  can  do.  You  come 
with  me,  Miss  Dawes.  I'll  turn  you  over 
to  Mrs.  Montford;  she'll  mother  you  and 
look  after  you.  I  can  see  you're  completely 
fagged  out.  Come  with  me." 

And  a  half-hour  later,  Sweet  Nell,  I  was 
tucked  up  in  the  whitest  little  bed  in  the 
neatest  and  sweetest  little  bedroom — and 
was  fast  asleep. 

Early  next  morning  Ned  phoned  me  from  the 
hotel  where  he  was  stopping.  Judge  Mont- 
ford had  met  him  at  the  train  and  told  him 
where  I  was.  After  breakfast  he  came  around 
to  see  me.  I  met  him  in  the  parlor;  and  he 
just  stood  and  grinned  at  me,  in  silence — in 
unholy  I-told-you-so  amusement. 

387 


THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

The  mean  impudent  man! 

"Ned  Bui-bin,"  I  said  loftily,  "if  you  don't 
stop  that,  you'll  go  back  to  Columbus  alone. 
Now!" 

And  then  he — he — well,  you  can  guess  what 
he  did,  Nell. 

An  hour  later  we  were  aboard  our  train 
and  speeding  toward  the  Capital  city.  Ned 
tried  to  talk  to  me;  but  I  was  silent  and  pre- 
occupied— thinking,  thinking.  Was  I  doing 
right,  going  back  with  him?  Did  I  really 
desire  to  go  back  with  him — considering  what 
I  had  done?  Would  he — could  he — ever  for- 
get the  loss  of  his  money?  Would  he — could 
he — truly  forget  the  deplorable  blunder  I  had 
made,  and  forgive  me? 

He  roused  me  from  my  bitter  reverie,  by 
asking : 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Marjory?" 

"Nothing — much,"  I  murmured. 

"Yes,  you  are;  and  I  can  tell  you  what 
it  is." 

"What?" 

'You're  wondering  why  you  ran  away 
from  me." 

"Well,  I'm  not!"  I  cried  indignantly.    "I'm 

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THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

wondering  why  I'm  going  back  with  you — 
why  I  ever  sent  for  you." 

" Oh!"  he  laughed.  " I  can  answer  all  such 
easy  questions  as  that." — He  was  grinning 
like  he  was  enjoying  himself  greatly! — "You 
sent  for  me  because  you  found  out  you  weren't 
able  to  take  care  of  yourself;  and  you're  go- 
ing back  with  me  for  the  same  reason." 

My  face  reddened  with  anger — I  felt  it; 
and  the  big  rude  fellow  at  my  side  just 
hawhawed. 

"Indeed,"  I  quavered,  tears  in  my  voice 
and  eyes,  "you're  very  kind,  Ned  Durbin." 

And  I  turned  my  back  upon  him  and  sat 
blinking  out  the  window. 

"Now — now!"  he  said  coaxingly,  tenderly. 
"Marjory,  look  around  here." 

But  I  made  no  move  to  comply  with  his 
request. 

"Marjory,"  he  whispered. 

I  gave  no  heed. 

"Marjory,"  he  repeated. 

"What?"— tearfully. 

"Look  around  here." 

"I— I  can't." 

"Yes,  you  can.     Wipe  your  tears  away;   I 

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THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

want  to  talk  to  you.  I've  got  something  in- 
teresting to  tell  you." 

I  dried  my  eyes — with  repeated  little  jabs 
of  my  handkerchief;  then  turned  to  him, 
silently,  questioningly. 

"I'm  telling  you  the  truth,"  he  said  so- 
berly, earnestly.  "You  have  found  you  can't 
do  without  me;  and  I've  found  I  can't  do 
without  you." — I  was  comforted  at  once, 
Sweet  Nell! — "Now,  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
why  you  ran  away  from  me." 

"Why,  you  know — Ned,"  I  breathed  softly, 
snuggling  a  little  closer  to  him. 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  smiled. 

"Surely  you  do." 

"Surely  I  don't — sweetheart." 

"Why,  I  ran  away  because — because  I 
lost  you  all  that  money,  of  course." 

"What  money?" — grinning  provokingly. 

"What  money!    You  know,  Ned — dear." 

"You  didn't  lose  me  any  money,  Marjory." 

"Ned!" 

"You  didn't.  Listen,  sweetheart," — joy- 
fully.— "You  didn't  lose  me  any  money;  you 
made  me  money." 

"Why— why—  " 

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THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

"Listen!  When  you  said  you  had  a  head- 
ache, yesterday,  and  left  the  office,  you 
hadn't  been  gone  more  than  half  an  hour 
till  a  fellow  came  in  and  wanted  to  buy  the 
Klein  tract.  He  offered  me  fifty  thousand 
dollars;  but  I  knew  at  once  he  was  the  agent 
of  the  Transylvania  people,  and  I  just  laughed 
at  him.  In  the  end  I  sold  it  to  him  for  a  clean 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  So  you  see, 
Marjie,  you  made  me  seventy-five  thousand 
instead  of  losing  me  fifty  thousand.  You 
were  right  all  the  time;  I  was  wrong.  The 
word  was  sent  out  from  the  Transylvania — for 
effect;  my  friend  I  met  at  Newark  was  mis- 
informed ;  the  Journal  was  mistaken — as  you 
insisted.  And  now— 

He  stopped  and  beamed  upon  me — devour- 
ing me  with  his  eyes,  Nell. 

"And  now?"  I  whispered  faintly — -but  en- 
couragingly. 

"Now,"  he  resumed,  "you  must  help  me 
to  spend  it,  Marjory." — Oo-h!  Delight,  Nell 
Adams!  It  had  come  at  last! — "You  must 
marry  me,  Marjie;  and  we'll  take  a  flight 
abroad — and  then  come  back  and  build  us 
a  nest.  Eh?" 

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THE   MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

The  big  bold  man!  He  slipped  his  arm 
around  me — right  there  in  the  car. 

"Don't!"  I  pleaded,  blushing  to  the  tip  of 
my  nose.  "Please  don't,  Ned;  somebody'll 
see  you." 

"Well,  answer  me,  then,"  he  laughed. 

"Take  away  your  arm — and  I  will." 

"Answer  me  first." 

"Answer  you  what?" 

"Will  you  marry  me?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Durbin,  this  is  so  sud— 

"Hush!" 

"So  sudden,  I—" 

"Marjory  Dawes,  answer  me!  Will  you 
marry  me?" 

"Why,  you  said  I  must,  didn't  you?" 

"Does  that  mean  yes?" 

"  Y— fx— «5   " 
-L  v         Q. 

And  then  we  talked  and  planned,  and 
planned  and  talked,  and  enjoyed  ourselves 
immensely — to  the  limit,  Ned  said. 

But  at  last  a  thought  intruded  itself;  and 
I  inquired: 

"  Ned,  what  were  those  men  down  at  Day- 
ton— Rotterden  and  Harris  and  the  rest — 
trying  to  do?" 

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THE    MISADVENTURES   OF   MARJORY 

He  laughed:  "They,  with  Orlanger  of  Co- 
lumbus, were  trying  to  buy  and  steal  the 
election  down  there;  trying  to  put  in  Rotter- 
den  as  state  senator.  He  has  pledged  him- 
self to  support  some  railroad  schemes  of  Or- 
langer's;  Orlanger's  a  lobbyist  for  the  rail- 
roads. I  don't  suppose  I  can  make  you  under- 
stand it  all," — he  looked  at  me  so  fondly,  Nell, 
I  couldn't  resent  his  implied  lack  of  confidence 
in  my  keen  discernment!  —  "and  I  don't 
know  that  it  matters.  I'll  just  say  this:  I'm 
president  of  the  Leatherlips  political  club, 
and  I  got  onto  their  game — and  queered  it. 
Now,  let's  talk  about  ourselves." 

But  what's  the  use  of  writing  more,  Nell 
mine?  You've  guessed  the  conventional  and 
tiresome  finale,  "  they  married  and  were  happy 
ever  afterward,"  long  ago.  Yes,  we  married 
—Ned  and  I;  married  down  at  old  Chester- 
ville, — or  should  I  say  were  married? — last 
Christmas.  I  forgave  Jack  and  Aunt  Dodo 
and  Dorothy,  of  course;  and  blessed  them 
and  fate  that  Jack's  marriage  had  made  an 
exile  of  me.  For  had  not  said  exile  brought 
me  Ned — my  Ned? 

It  was  at  my  own  wedding  that  I  again 

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THE    MISADVENTURES    OF   MARJORY 

met  Colonel  Wells — my  dear  old  Southron; 
and  it  was  there  he  told  me  all  about  how 
he  befooled  the  marshal  at  Conesville. 

Ned  and  I  went  abroad  immediately — to 
southern  Europe  and  Egypt  and  the  Holy 
Land,  first,  then  back  by  the  way  of  Berlin 
and  Paris  and  London.  We  were  gone  six 
months,  and  spent  six  thousand  dollars;  and 
brought  back  a  whole  shipload  of  foreign 
trumpery  to  litter  up  our  new  home. 

And  now,  Nell  Adams,  as  soon  as  you've 
read  this — no,  don't  stop  to  read  it;  it'll 
take  too  long! — pack  your  things  at  once  and 
come  to  see  me — out  here  on  Bryden  Road. 
Maybe  I'll  give  you  Daddy  Durbin  as  a  hus- 
band; he's  awfully  nice.  Then — oh,  I've  got 
a  secret  to  tell  you;  and  I  haven't  got  the 
courage  to  put  it  down  in  cold,  unfeeling 
black-and-white ! 

MARJORY. 


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